


pot kettle black

by anaphiel, pinesing



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman, Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Curses, Don't Examine This Too Closely, F/M, Found Families, Improper use of magic, M/M, Magic fighting, Melodrama, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Temper Tantrums, clashing magic systems, help me, i love that that is a tag option?, interdimensional portals, this started as a joke, we don't take ourselves seriously, wow there are so many sex tags on here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-06-08 02:19:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15233214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaphiel/pseuds/anaphiel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesing/pseuds/pinesing
Summary: “You can't just 'whip up’ a dimensional portal,” Raistlin says, both derision and frustration dripping from his voice.“Clearly I can,” Howl drawls with the same amount of derision, looking up at the other man. “I’m assuming you’re also a wizard since you have so many opinions, so maybe if you study some more you’ll be able to do it yourself someday.”Just beneath the black hood, the sneering twist of lips is visible. The voice, when it answers, is cold and quiet-- even quieter than usual. “You have no idea what I am. Or what lengths I'll go to in order to get information that I want.”“Are you threatening me?” Howl asks.---You know those two separate 80s fantasy properties you love? Here are both, mashed together, with a dash of romance. You're welcome. (Aka a crossover idea that started as a joke and became its own beast.)





	1. DAY ONE

**Author's Note:**

> this all started back in december when my girlfriend and i had a conversation about our favorite fictional wizards when we were, like, twelve years old. and i, being an enabler with no sense of shame, said "what if we shipped them?" 70-odd-thousand words later, here we are. buckle up, folks.

Stories like this should start with weather that sets the mood: a dark and stormy night, clouds gathering overhead, a sunset the color of blood. Here, the night is cool and clear, the colors of the evening bleeding from the western horizon into a blue-black peppered with stars overhead. Two moons hang in the sky, one red, one silver. A light breeze ruffles the trees. It’s picturesque, yet the contrasting colors of light are portentous.

But then the wind picks up speed, becoming a gale as a portal swirls open. It’s more of a door than a portal when it comes down to it: a rectangular opening in the landscape filled with an inky blackness that mills about like something between smoke and water. A man steps through it. 

“Huh,” he says, looking around with flat glassy eyes. He pushes a lock of blond hair out of his face, then props his hands on his hips. “That was easier than I thought it would be.” 

Nothing changes as he surveys the landscape. It’s when he steps forward that the portal slams shut behind him, sending a shock of wind and magic forward into the forest. The Wizard Howl- for that’s who he is, of course- falls forward with it, collapsing to his knees. He looks back at where the portal was and blinks with suddenly heavy eyelids.

“Oh, shit,” he says, and falls into a heap.

 

\---

 

Far to the north, across a tired world recovering from an age of war, the weather better suits a story like this. Warnings of a storm swirl around a white city, and a lonely, blackened tower sat at the center of it all, right at the heart of the darkened clouds. Inside this tower, a strange wizard with golden skin and eyes like hourglasses pours over a small object. The wizard is all alone, everything around him covered in a layer of dust-- everything except, of course, the much-loved books circling the room on high shelves. It would be unsurprising to see dust settled across the wizard’s shoulders, too, given how still he sits. 

He watches the colors change in a small crystal orb before him, watches them rearrange themselves into images-- images that show the wizard everything he needs to know, everything important happening on Krynn. He’s lost to the room around him, oblivious to the storm outside, because the orb is showing him something strange-- a door between worlds and a strange man falling through it.

Raistlin Majere watches the man fall to the ground, the bright colors of his suit shifting strangely in the orb’s shimmering surface. Surprisingly, Raistlin recognizes where the man is. It's a stretch of road beneath Solace. Raistlin played there as a child, alongside Caramon, Kitiara, and Sturm-- rather, Raistlin  _ watched  _ his friends play there, tagged along only out of boredom.. 

The image in the orb fades, and Raistlin stands. Raistlin has never seen magic like that-- slipping through worlds like walking through a door-- and he intended to find out how the man did it, and he had to do so before Par-Salian and the Conclave find out about that man, the one without a wizard’s robes.

He shrugs on his robes, black, like one of the three moons in the sky, and holds the Dragon Orb high. At his words of magic, the world around him warps, and Raistlin Majere leaves the Tower of High Sorcery at Palanthas for the first time in years.

\---

 

When Howl opens his eyes, he’s indoors. It’s cold, and the couch he’s draped across haphazardly is covered in a layer of dust. He quickly takes mental stock of the situation- clothes on, good. Hair unfortunately mussed and matted with dirt. Head aching. 

He groans, and sneezes. 

“I can make you some tea, if you'd like,” a quiet voice from across the room says. There’s something humorous in the tone, like it's a joke the speaker has with himself. He’s hidden in shadow, all that’s visible to Howl a pair of hands, golden-tinted by the fire blazing in the pit beside him, resting on a long staff.

Despite what one might expect, Howl- Howell Jenkins, or Howl Pendragon, or the Wizard Howl, or any of his other collected personalities and lives- is not particularly familiar with situations like this. He’s done his fair share of waking up in someone else’s bed, especially in college, but he’s always been in control of his own adventures. This unnerves him. He clears his throat, eyes fixed on the figure’s golden hands. 

“I would appreciate that,” he replies, voice raspy. Part of his brain is screaming to be on watch for poison, but he reasons that someone wouldn’t really go to the trouble of dragging him to a- whatever this is- and setting him up on the couch just to poison him immediately. Besides, he can usually sense poisons if he tries hard enough. “To whom do I owe my thanks for such hospitality?” 

Raistlin doesn't answer him, just rises, and turns his back on the man to prepare the tea.

“Well, all right then,” says Howl, feeling even more unsettled. His footing in this world was shaky enough to begin with, and this man is just making it worse. Plus, his head is killing him, and it’s making him more petulant than usual. “If you want to be all mysterious that’s fine, but I really have to be on my way soon. Things to do, people to see, all that.”

“Back to your world, is it?” Raistlin asks, passing a cup of bitter-smelling tea over to Howl. “And I thought you might’ve come here for a specific purpose…”

Howl sits up enough to smell the tea, closing his eyes. It doesn’t smell particularly appetizing, but it isn’t setting off any warning signs. He takes a sip and makes a face. “Is this standard tea in this world? And yes, preferably. Or to any other nearby habitable dimension, hopefully without any angry uncles with swords.” The last part is muttered into his cup. 

Raistlin raises an eyebrow at the man, studying him intently. He’s already reminded, vaguely, of a teenage Kitiara at her most petulant, which is  _ not _ a good portent for building any sort of exchange of communication with the stranger. “Standard for me, which means it's the only kind you'll find in this tower.”

“Can I at least get your name?” Howl asks, trying to keep the whine out of his voice. 

Raistlin hesitates before answering, “Raistlin.”

Howl frowns and takes another drink of his tea. Fine, then. Two can play this game. 

“What spell was that you used?” Raistlin asks, betraying some of his eagerness. “To move from world to world? You're human, are you not?”

“Flesh and blood,” Howl says, absently. “It’s just a doorway I whipped up. It comes in handy.”

“You can't just  _ 'whip up _ ’ a dimensional portal,” Raistlin says, both derision and frustration dripping from his voice.

“Clearly  _ I _ can,” Howl drawls with the same amount of derision, looking up at the other man. “I’m assuming you’re also a wizard since you have so many  _ opinions _ , so maybe if you study some more you’ll be able to do it yourself someday.”

Just beneath the black hood, the sneering twist of lips is visible. The voice, when it answers, is cold and quiet-- even quieter than usual. “You have no idea  _ what _ I am. Or what lengths I'll go to in order to get information that I want.”

“Are you threatening me?” Howl asks, leaning back and crossing his arms, projecting as much nonchalant confidence as possible. His head still hurts, and he does  _ not _ want a fight right now. Unfortunately, he doesn’t see much in the way of nearby exits. Words it is, then. “You’re right, I don’t know you, or what you can do, or whatever, probably because you haven’t told me more than your name and have done nothing but whisper dramatically at me since I woke up! What am I supposed to make of that?” 

“Clever, aren't we,” Raistlin says airily. He pulls his chair closer to Howl’s couch, but still close enough to the fire that he can feel its warmth at his back. He shivers anyway. “But I won't fight you, at least not now. You're still too weak from your spell and I am, as well.” He pauses as a short coughing fit overtakes him, as if to prove the validity of his words. When it passes, he continues, “You haven't  _ even _ told me your name, stranger, and what am  _ I  _ supposed to make of  _ that _ ?”

Ah, Howl thinks. His petulance has not paid off. “My name is Howl Pendragon, and I am a royal wizard to the king in Ingary, which I’m sure you haven’t heard of. What do you mean, weak?” 

Raistlin blinks. The light in the room is dim, the fire it's only source, so he may be wrong, but when he looks at this man, he doesn't see decay. He has no idea what to make of Howl Pendragon, the man from another world. He doesn't like it. 

“If you're in any state to cast a spell right now,” Raistlin says, “Then perhaps you're right. You're a  _ much _ greater wizard than I.”

Howl blinks, and probes tentatively at the magic in the air around him, as if he were preparing to cast another spell. Not only does it not respond, he feels immediately several kilos heavier, as if stones are weighing down his arms and legs. “What,” he gasps, “is going  _ on _ with the magic here?” 

Raistlin tilts his head to one side. “It's different where you come from, then.  _ Interesting _ ,” he says, drawing the last word out into a long hiss.

Howl barely notices, instead hauling himself to his feet and continuing to probe, which proves to be a bad idea when he collapses back onto the couch in a heap. “I really don’t like this,” he says, rolling over to look at the other man. “How long does it last?” 

“It depends on the spell, your determination, your  _ physical endurance _ ,” Raistlin says, a little bitterness in the last one. “You should feel slightly better tomorrow. The tea will help.”

Howl takes another drink of it. “What time is it?” he asks.

Raistlin glances around at the completely dark room. “Early afternoon.”

“How did we get here?” Howl asks, watching him. “I arrived in a forest.”

“I brought you here,” Raistlin says simply. “Before people found you who'd ask questions unkinder than my own.”

“Ah,” Howl says, still watching. “My thanks, then. Where is  _ here _ ?”

“The Tower of High Sorcery at Palanthas,” Raistlin says. There's another twitch of his lips, like he's sharing a secret joke.

Howl peers at him. “Is that funny?”

“Not particularly.” Raistlin shrugs. “There's an interesting story to the place, though.”

“Oh? Is it a true story?” Howl asks, leaning forward. 

“As true as old stories  _ can _ be,” Raistlin says, vaguely amused by the man’s sudden interest.

“Stories have power,” Howl says, propping his chin on his hand. “I’d like to hear it, if you don’t mind the telling.” It would at least pass the time and give him some more information about what kind of place this is. 

“If that's true,” Raistlin begins, “I'll give you some of my power in exchange for some of yours. The story of how and why you're here in exchange for the story of my tower.”

Howl laughs. “It’s a deal, then.” He grimaces. “Or something like that.”

“Something like that,” Raistlin echoes, then he settles back, nervous hands twisting their grip on his strange staff. “The story of the tower is this: Of the five towers of High Sorcery in Abanasia, this was once the greatest. It was the center of our culture, a place of learning and advancement. However, as fear and hatred of wizards spread, the people of Palanthas turned on the magic users they'd once coexisted with. They rioted, protested, and persecuted us until the wizards who lived here-- white, red, and black alike-- left.”

Raistlin’s voice becomes slightly stronger in the telling of his story, rising almost to the volume a normal person speaks at, and his eyes gleam feverishly from beneath his hood. “However, as the leaders of Palanthas came to claim the tower for themselves, they looked up, and in the uppermost window saw one of  _ my _ kind, a black-robed wizard. He flung himself out of the window and onto the spikes below--,” Raistlin pauses for effect, a wide smile beginning to spread across his face, “--and with his dying breath, cursed this tower, and declared that the gates should remain shut until the master of past and present come to claim it as his own. The Grove of oak trees surrounding the tower blackened and twisted, and spirits of the dead were called forth to chase away the Palenthinians. And so the Tower sat, and it waited, for its master to return.” At this, Raistlin pauses, again for dramatic effect. “And so I did. Would you like to know how I earned that title-- Master of Past and Present?”

Howl leans back and laughs. “Wow! A cursed tower. I like it. Yes, yes, tell me more,” he says in between laughs. “You have quite the knack for storytelling. Don’t get me wrong, I believe you completely!” he adds hastily, realizing what the laughter may have implied. “I’m familiar with curses myself.” 

Raistlin snorts, a brief, amused huff of air. That's not the usual reaction that story garners, and it’s not the one Raistlin prefers. Perhaps he should take Howl through the Shoikan Grove, see the spirits of the undead firsthand. Then, he may get his reaction. “Hm. I almost want to ask for  _ that _ story instead,” he says, then, bringing the topic back to himself, “I earned that title by traveling through time, killing the greatest wizard to ever live, and traveling to another dimension to kill a god. And  _ that _ is how I know you can’t simply  _ whip up  _ a dimensional portal.” 

Howl blinks. “Ambitious, aren’t you?” he says, then gives his most disarming grin. “I like it.” 

Raistlin’s grip tightens on his staff.  _ That _ is the strangest reaction this man his given so far. “I...yes, I  _ have  _ been called that.”  _ Ambition. Cunning. Snake. Sly One. _

“So gods can be killed here, can they?” Howl muses. “I’ve never met a god. I don’t particularly want to, honestly.” After a moment, he looks up. “Is it my turn for a story, then?” 

“Gods can be killed anywhere, if you're strong enough,” Raistlin says, dropping back to his usual whisper. “It's your turn.”

“Would you like the story of the curse or the story of how I got here? I’ll tell you both,” Howl shrugs. “I am an open book, my friend, and this particular curse is not one that limits the speaking of it.” He’s not even sure where he would begin to describe the one that does, other than with  _ I may have been foolish. _

“Both, then, if you will.”

Howl leans back. “Where to begin,” he says quietly, then claps his hands together. “Ah! In Ingary, where I live, my house has four doors. Each opens into a different space. This is the spell I used to get here, you see. I created the spell years ago, back when I was in university. It’s the same one I used to get to Ingary- I’m not originally from there, I’m from Wales, which is, well, elsewhere.  The spell is a modification on an ancient one meant to summon extra-dimensional beings to the caster. I simply turned it on its head, and once I’d used it a few times and worked out the kinks I set it permanently on my door so I could come and go as I please. I still have a family and some friends in Wales, you see,” he adds, “Though perhaps  _ friends _ is a bit of a strong word.” All they really do is drink together. Howl isn’t actually sure if he has any friends, now that he thinks about it, especially if Calcifer doesn’t count. “The spell, and my house, is sustained by Calcifer, my fire demon.”

He picks up his mug of tea and is vaguely disappointed to find it empty. “So that’s the background,” he says, putting the cup back down and waving a hand through the air in a graceful loop. “The circumstances of me being here are rather less interesting. I was, ah,  _ involved _ with a girl from the village nearby for a while, and things got rather….  _ messy _ when it ended. I don’t particularly appreciate being threatened in my own home, nor did I want to bring an angry knight-errant of an uncle back to Wales on the off chance he followed me, so I threw loose the fulcrum of the spell and stepped through, and now I’m here. Ta-da,” he finishes, grinning weakly. It was not one of his best moments. 

Raistlin sits back in his chair and thinks. He doesn't acknowledge Howl’s empty cup, nor the end of his story. It sounds...It sounds like magic is  _ very _ different in this Ingary. To be able to throw dimensional summons around as flippantly as he seems to, to cast permanent spells and travel through worlds and to befriend fire demons, and to do it  _ without the exhaustion that comes from this world. _ The sheer power Raistlin would be able to attain...the knowledge, the new magic, the  _ freedom.  _ He needs to see this Ingary. “Hm,” is all he says in response to Howl’s story.

The other wizard watches Raistlin carefully. He can’t see the mage’s eyes from where he sits, but he can see interest twist across his lips, there and gone in a second. Briefly, Howl wonders what he’s awakened here. “Wow,” he says, sarcasm slipping thickly into his voice. “I’m glad you think so highly of my storytelling skills. Really brought down the house, didn’t I.”

“I won’t compliment your storytelling just to feed your ego,” Raistlin says, Howl reminding him so much of Kitiara in that moment that it comes out in an almost-teasing tone, unbidden.

Howl gasps and puts a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt,” he says. “Truly, I thought we had something going here.” 

“We absolutely did  _ not, _ ” Raistlin sniffs.

“You wound me,” Howl replies, a laugh evident in his voice. He shifts forwards. “Did you want to hear about the curse?” 

Raistlin bites his tongue before he can argue more with the strange wizard. He has an annoyed feeling this could go on all day if he doesn't. “Yes.”

“Well, my friend, the long and short of it is this: hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. When I turn twenty-seven my heart will belong to a witch, and that will be the end of me.” He says it nonchalantly as possible, but some of his fear- true fear, not anxiety or his feigned shock- leaks into his voice. “Or at least it would if I were anything but a conniving, scheming liar.” 

Raistlin’s lip curls at the casual use of “my friend,” but he says nothing. “It seems, based on your last comment, that is  _ not  _ the long of it.”

“It’s a complicated curse,” Howl shrugs. “It’s called  _ Song _ . There are a few conditions I need to fulfill for it to work, and one of them is being honest, which I most definitely am not.”

“I see. I'll keep that in mind in my dealings with you,” Raistlin says, smirking.

Howl beams.

“Are there any spell components you'll need for your return to Ingary?” Raistlin asks, changing the subject. He needs to learn more about this spell for  _ replication _ purposes.

Howl’s smile freezes, then fades as it is replaced with a look of absolute horror. “I,” he starts, then swallows and looks at his hands, fidgeting. “Hm,” he says. He closes his eyes and groans, rubbing his temples in frustration. “I don’t  _ remember,” _ he says, desperation leaking into his voice. “Oh, fuck.”

“No, of course you wouldn't. You have your spellbook with you, don't you?”

Howl just stares at him. 

“You...don’t have a spellbook,” Raistlin says, reassessing the intelligence of this man. “Did you drop it when you came through the portal?”

“I have  _ many _ spellbooks,” Howl snaps, “and they’re all in my study, in my  _ house _ , in  _ Ingary _ , where they belong!” 

“You don't carry your spellbook  _ with  _ you?  _ Reckless,”  _ Raistlin hisses.

“I don’t tend to  _ forget _ my own  _ spells _ ,” Howl hisses back, anger flashing in his glassy eyes. 

Raistlin only smirks, glad to finally be getting a rise out of Howl. “Apparently, you  _ do _ . Same as everyone else.”

“What is  _ with _ this place?” Howl almost yells in frustration, throwing his hands in the air and pulling himself to his feet. He starts to pace and mutter, leaving tracks in the dust back and forth across the floor. “How does anyone get anything  _ done _ ?” 

“We learn the meanings of patience and perseverance,” Raistlin says, amusement growing.

Howl whirls on him. “You’re doing this on purpose,” he says, shocked. “How do I know you didn’t drag me here and wipe my memory for some nefarious plot?”

“You don’t,” Raistlin says. “You have to take my word for it.”

Howl’s face twists in anger, his sophisticated features pulling together. “And what is your word worth?” he asks, low and furious. 

“ _ That _ ,” Raistlin whispers, voice a slow hiss, “depends on who you ask.”

Howl scowls and whirls around, looking for the door. It’s not immediately obvious in the dilapidated room. “Where’s the exit,” he spits, turning back. 

“Allow me to escort you,” Raistlin says, and he rises. If he wasn’t leaning so heavily on his staff, he would’ve been much taller than Howl. “You’re no prisoner, but once you leave the Tower you will not be able to find your way back here.” Raistlin begins making his slow way to the open, darkened doorway, then pauses. “Of course, I  _ may be _ the only one in the world who can help you remember your spell. But go, if you wish.”

Howl glares at the wizard, his fists clenching and unclenching, and then deflates all at once, sinking down to the floor in a heap. He puts a hand to his head. His eyes are wide and unfocused, staring into the middle distance like it’s the very barrier between the worlds that he seeks to cross. “Michael is on vacation this week,” he says quietly. “I don’t remember when he was supposed to come back.” 

Raistlin blinks down at Howl, vaguely wondering who this  _ Michael _ is but mostly wondering who  _ Howl  _ is, and how to get what he wants from him. He tries to imagine how Tanis or Caramon would react to a situation like this. They’d be empathetic. They’d try to comfort the man, or vow to get him back home. Of course, Raistlin  _ isn’t _ Tanis or Caramon, so he says nothing.

Howl sits for a moment, and then shakes it off. “Can we do this on a time limit?” he asks. “I have to be back before the fire dies.”

“And how long is that?”

Frowning, Howl thinks. “He’s a demon, so I’d give him…. three days. Four at most.”

Raistlin lets out a slow breath. Spells of this magnitude take weeks,  _ months _ to prepare. But four days… “We can try.”

Howl sighs, then holds his hand out plaintively to Raistlin. 

Raistlin stares at it blankly.

“Help me up?” Howl asks, almost pouting. 

“Are you incapable of getting up yourself?”

“Bah,” Howl says, hauling himself to his feet. “You have no manners. It would have been a touching moment.” 

“I don’t like touching,” Raistlin says, simply. Then, because he’s curious, and because Howl is actually quite close to him now, he says, “ _ Shirak. _ ”

The staff in his hands begins to glow, illuminating the room with the light of day. While Howl blinks at the suddenness of it, Raistlin takes the moment to study Howl. He thought that he’d been imagining it, or that the darkness was playing tricks on him, but he was right-- he can’t see decay in Howl’s features, he just sees...a human. He sees a human in the way he  _ used _ to see them, before Par-Salian cursed him with these eyes. It shouldn’t be possible.

The sudden light has the added effect of illuminating Raistlin’s face, which Howl has yet to see in its entirely. He’s younger than Howl was expecting, probably close to his own age, though his years could be hidden under the strange golden tint to his skin and his silver hair. He isn’t bad-looking, a voice says in the back of Howl’s mind, but he ignores it to focus on something more interesting. “Your eyes,” he says quietly. It’s a statement and a question. Howl has never seen anything like this before, and he knew his own eyes were strange. 

“A curse,” Raistlin says with a sardonic twist of the lips. “I see time as it affects all things.” Raistlin narrows his eyes. “ _ Most _ things.”

Howl shudders.  _ Time _ led to  _ age _ and  _ decay _ , which isn’t something he wants to think about in relation to himself. He tries to make light of it. “I must look lovely,” he mutters. 

“You do,” Raistlin says simply, eyes narrowing to slits. “They don't seem to work on you.”

“What,” says Howl, taken aback. 

“I see no decay in your face.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Howl says, and means it. He hates to think of anyone seeing him as anything other than exactly how he wants them to. “You’re lucky I’m so pretty.” 

“Ah, yes,  _ lucky _ me,” Raistlin says. He's still trying to figure out  _ why _ Howl isn't aging. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” Howl says. 

Raistlin frowns and narrows his eyes. “How long have you been twenty-five?”

Howl pauses, making a show of thinking it over. “Well, my birthday is midsummer, so I would say…. about six months, give or take.”

Raistlin, growing increasingly frustrated, asks, “And you're sure you're entirely human?”

“Yes?” Howl asks, confused. “I mean, I’m not an entire human right now, but I’m not anything else, either.” 

“What do you mean, you're not an entire human?”

Howl visibly struggles with this answer. After a minute or so of hemming and hawing, he settles on: “Missing… bits.”

Raistlin narrows his eyes, then looks Howl up and down slowly, pausing...somewhere. “Right.”

Howl flushes. “No!” he yells. “God, no,  _ those  _ bits are  _ perfectly _ functional and present, I assure you.” 

Raistlin raises an eyebrow. “If you insist.”

“If you ask very nicely, I could prove it to you,” Howl says primly, attempting to regain the upper hand in the conversation. 

“I’ll be sure not to ask nicely,” Raistlin says, equally primly.

Howl chokes a little bit. “Well,” he says. “So, uh. Do you have anything t- any food?”

Raistlin clears his throat and, seeing no reason to keep it up anymore, lowers his hood. “I have food, yes. I keep it in a thing called the  _ kitchen. _ ”

“Ah, so there’s more than just one room,” Howl says. 

“This building is one of the greatest architectural wonders of the last century,” Raistlin snaps. “ _ Of course _ there’s more than one room.”

“Well  _ I _ haven’t seen any of it, how would I know?” Howl snaps back.

“What kind of  _ tower _ only has one room?” Raistlin asks with a sneer, then turns on his heel and storms out of the room, not looking to see if Howl’s following.

“I don’t like to assume,” Howl sniffs, following just as stormily. 

 

\---

 

The kitchen, as it turns out, isn’t as gloomy as the rest of the place. It looks like...a kitchen. A kitchen whose windows are carefully covered by heavy curtains, a kitchen with cobwebs in every corner, but a kitchen all the same. Raistlin doesn’t have much food, doesn’t need to eat very often, but he finds Howl some bread and jam and serves it up unceremoniously by throwing it onto a plate and shoving it into Howl’s hands.

Howl doesn’t thank him, just digs into the food as if he hasn’t eaten in days, licking his fingers free of jam after the bread is gone. Raistlin watches him eat somewhat distastefully, mostly focused on trying to piece together the strange, alien elements of the man’s story. Even after How finishes eating, Raistlin still stares.

Howl meets his eyes. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

Howl raises an eyebrow. 

“In exchange for helping you recast your spell, I require something in return.”

“Go on,” Howl says, narrowing his eyes. 

“I only wish to follow you to Ingary,” Raistlin says. If he were anyone else, his tone would have sounded overly innocent. With Raistlin, it still manages to sound conniving. 

Howl blinks. “Sure,” he says. 

Raistlin blinks back. He had expected more resistance. He nods. “You needn’t feel any responsibility for me once we’re there; I'll find my own way.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Howl says. “You seem surprised.” 

“It's not often I get what I want without a fight,” Raistlin says with a wry smile.

Howl gives a breathy laugh in agreement. “Fair. Well, as I’m a dimensional transplant myself, I don’t see why I should deny you.” 

“Well,” Raistlin says, a slow smile spreading, “We have another deal, then.”

“That we do,” Howl smiles back. “Please tell me you have more to eat than bread and jam, or I’ll be forced to loot through your cupboards like a raccoon.” 

“I…” Raistlin trails off, not entirely sure. Dalamar’s been away for...how long has Dalamar been away for? Raistlin wasn't paying attention when he told him. Anyhow, Dalamar's the only one who gets groceries, and Raistlin  _ knows _ he doesn't have enough in this kitchen to keep Howl content for the next three days. “...am not sure.”

Howl gives him a blank look, then stands and goes to the cupboards, flipping his hair as he does. After the third one he opens, he peers back at Raistlin. “I don’t understand how you’re even  _ alive _ ,” he says. 

“Nor I you, if you go around jumping into random dimensions and letting witches curse you.”

“At least I eat food!” Howl snaps, then reaches so far into a cupboard that he almost topples over. He withdraws a carton of eggs. “Ah-ha!” he cries triumphantly, giving them a good sniff. “Haven’t gone bad. Do you have a frying pan?” When Raistlin points one out, he continues. “And  _ anyway _ , you’re not really one to talk about letting people curse you, you argumentative thing.” 

Raistlin is too busy scowling at being called “an argumentative thing” to counter. He also pointedly does  _ not _ argue back.

Howl cooks. He’s not particularly good at cooking, but over years and years of living alone with only a fire demon for company he’s learned a few staple dishes. Egg sandwiches, for one, are easy, if a bit messy to eat. So that’s what he makes- two of them, in fact. He offers one to Raistlin when he sits back down, looking pleased with himself. He’d tied the trailing sleeves of his elaborate jacket behind his back to keep them out of the way, and it leaves his forearms bare. 

Raistlin stares down at the plate, sniffs disdainfully, despite the fact that it actually...smells and looks somewhat enticing, and frowns at Howl. 

“If you don’t eat it, I will,” Howl says pointedly. 

Raistlin eats the egg, grudgingly.

Howl smiles.

They finish the meal, if you can really call it that, in somewhat companionable silence. Howl leaves the dishes on the table, crumbs and all, and leans back and stretches. 

“Does this multi-room tower have somewhere other than the couch that I can sleep?” 

Raistlin, for once too exhausted for sarcasm, nods. “You'll have to take Dalamar’s room for tonight, until one of the others can be prepared. Come. I'll show you the way.”

He does, leading Howl up a damp, stone staircase toward the top of the tower. He stops at a locked door, whispers a few words of magic to unlock it, and swings the door open. This room is warmer, slightly more  _ normal _ and lacking the otherworldly chill of the rest of the castle tower.

“Don't leave your room in the night,” Raistlin advises, glow from his staff casting strange shadows across his face. “And if you hear noises, leave them be.”

Howl nods, then shuts the door and collapses into bed. He sleeps almost immediately, and he doesn’t dream. 


	2. DAY TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did say we wrote 70k-odd words of this, didn't i? this chapter contains clashing magic customs, awkward flirting, and bad decisions.

Howl has three realizations upon waking. 

  1. He’s functionally trapped on a strange world where none of his magic, power, or knowledge can be used and with only a disagreeable stranger for help,
  2. If he doesn’t make it home before the fire goes out he _will_ die, and
  3. He has one outfit and none of his hair supplies.



Yesterday, he was far too exhausted to truly process the gravity of his situation. Today, he has two days to learn an entire magic system and recreate one of the most complex spells he’s ever come up with save for that of the castle itself. He doesn’t quite trust Raistlin to help him, but he knows no one else on this world and can’t do it alone. He doesn’t want to die. He wants to go home. 

On top of that, due to the way magic functions on this world, none of his usual emotional outlets are viable options for him. 

He screams.

Only seconds later, the door breaks open with a pulse of energy and a flare of white light, and there stands Raistlin. When he doesn't see any threats or undead spirits trying to suck Howl’s life from his body, he glares at Howl. “What's the matter?”

Howl turns, slowly, from where he’s standing facing the window. He looks forlorn and desperate, carefully so, his hair let down from the tie it was held back with the day before and tousled around his face. “I,” he announces, “am going to  _ die _ .” 

Once Raistlin has caught on to the fact that this is just another fit of dramatics, he lets the magic he’d been holding close go and rolls his eyes. “We all are,” he snaps, still annoyed at having been pulled from research for  _ this _ . “I am, too, if I have to deal with  _ you _ for two more days.”

“Maybe not even that!” Howl screeches, grabbing at his hair. “I was only guessing at how much wood Calcifer has left! I could die any minute, and all I have to comfort me in my last moments is  _ you _ !” 

“Well, that  _ would _ be unfortunate,” Raistlin says. “I suppose we’ll just have to get you back home before that fire dies.” If Howl dies before they're able to execute the spell, Raistlin may never make it to Ingary.

Howl stares at Raistlin, breathing heavily, then collapses on the bed, spread-eagled. He stares up at the ceiling despondently, then says something so quietly that Raistlin can’t quite make it out. 

Raistlin blinks. He can never quite seem to predict what this wizard is going to do next. “What was that?”

“Do you have,” Howl repeats, slightly louder, “somewhere I could shower.” 

Raistlin frowns. “Shower?”

“Bathe,” Howl sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m filthy.” 

“Ah,” Raistlin says, looking at Howl somewhat strangely. “Yes, of course. If you need clothes, I suppose you can borrow some of Dalamar’s robes.”

Howl turns to stare at him. “Robes?” 

 

\---

 

A full hour later, the two of them find themselves back in Raistlin’s study, Howl still damp and pink from scrubbing himself clean and somehow smelling of gardenias. He’s wearing the robes that Raistlin offered him, with the sleeves tied back again. They’re a bit too big for him- whoever Dalamar is, he’s taller than Howl, though shorter than Raistlin.

He thinks the black makes him look dashing. 

“I don’t understand how you manage to stay clean like that,” he’s saying, thumbing through one of Raistlin’s older reference books. 

“You get used to it,” Raistlin says, not looking up from his own book. “Especially when it's not a priority.”

“It’s always a priority,” Howl sniffs. “Heathens.” 

The morning passes quickly. Raistlin has a large library, and Howl soon finds himself beginning to grasp the basics of the magic system. He’s always been a fast learner, and Raistlin, though quiet, is a thorough teacher with an extremely large base of knowledge. Howl finds a sheath of unused paper and starts taking notes. Magic here seems more solid than it is in Ingary: finite, heavy, and tangible. It requires more components than merely symbolism and real words of power for each and every spell. Howl knows his way around words of power, has always been good at using them. During his time in University words of power were the only real magic he could grasp, hard to come by as it was in 1980s Wales. Since relocating to Ingary, however, he’d fallen slightly out of practice. It wouldn’t take much to jog his memory, though. 

There is no natural light in the room, so Howl finds it hard to measure the passage of time, but after a while he starts to get hungry. 

“Raistlin,” he says, then again. “Raistlin!” 

Raistlin looks up from his book, annoyed. Or at least,  _ trying _ to look annoyed-- the day had been a constant stream of questions, yes, but they'd been insightful, careful questions. This Howl might be one of the cleverest men Raistlin has known, which gives Raistlin a little more patience. “ _ What _ ?” he snaps.

“I need to eat if I’m going to keep doing this,” Howl sighs. “Unfortunately. I do think I have the basics down, though. I’d like to test some of this out, actually,” he murmurs, leafing through his notes. 

“That may not be a good idea,” Raistlin says in his strange half-whisper. “Not yet, and not on an empty stomach.”

Howl snaps the book shut. “So we eat first,” he says brightly. 

“We’ll have to venture out into Palanthas,” Raistlin says with a sigh. “We can stop at a tavern for food now, then pick up groceries at the market.” 

Howl visibly perks up at this. “The city? That’ll be fun.” He starts messing with his hair. 

“ _ Fun _ ,” Raistlin repeats, flatly. “Let’s go.”

At the base of the tower, before they pass outside, Raistlin stops howl. “The Shoikan Grove can be...off-putting. Stay close to my light and don't be misled by the voices you may hear or the faces you may see. Come here; I need to give you my blessing in order for you to be able to pass through.”

Howl moves closer to Raistlin, raising his eyebrows. Raistlin places a gentle hand on the back of Howl’s head, then, fingers threading almost unintentionally through the hair there, and places a light kiss on Howl’s forehead.

Howl freezes, feeling a sudden heat course through him. It’s almost painful, almost pleasurable, and like nothing he’s ever felt before. When Raistlin pulls away, he steps back and clears his throat, eyes wide.

Raistlin raises an eyebrow at Howl, smirks a little, and wonders what he’s thinking. “Let's go.” 

The journey through the Grove is short, as it usually is for Raistlin. The spirits that haunt the Grove flee the light of his staff, recognizing the Master of Past and Present, lord of the tower. Howl and Raistlin come out into an empty street, one lined with buildings that seem to have been abandoned for hundreds of years.

“If anyone else tried to approach the tower, they wouldn't even be able to make it down the street before the Fear gripped them and rooted them in place,” Raistlin says conversationally. “Even my brother, who is brave to the point of foolishness, cannot make it far. And only the kender has been able to make it to the trees before being forced to turn back.”

“You have a brother?” Howl asks, conversationally. For some reason, he had been thinking of Raistlin as some sort of force of nature, not as a human with a family. 

“A twin brother, yes. And a sister. I haven't seen either in quite some time.” Raistlin keeps his tone carefully flat in talking about  _ them _ , and doesn't look at Howl. He doesn't want to encourage continuation of the topic.

“I have a sister,” Howl says. “I haven’t seen her in awhile, either. She thinks I’m quite the failure,” he laughs. Just being outside was lifting his spirits considerably. 

Raistlin studies Howl out of the corner of his eye. “Because you study magic?”

“Ah, no, she, er, doesn’t know about that,” Howl says, sheepishly. “The world I come from doesn’t have much in the way of magic. She just thinks I don’t have a job.” 

“Ah,” Raistlin says. They've reached the end of the deserted street and have turned on to a wider one, this one only  _ mostly _ empty. If the city of Palanthas is shaped like a wheel, this will carry them to the outer rim. “Your world, I'm not sure I care to see.”

“I don’t much plan on going back,” Howl admits, tucking his arms into the flowing black sleeves. “Except to visit Megan, and Neil and Mari, of course.” 

“More family?” Raistlin asks, forgetting to sound disinterested.

“Niece and nephew,” Howl says happily. “Mari’s still a kid, but Neil’s getting to the age where all he wants to do is play computer games, so I’ve made him a few.” 

Raistlin blinks at the mention of “computer games,” assumes they're some sort of computational arithmetic games, and decides not to comment. “It sounds like you're a very thoughtful uncle.”

Howl grimaces. “Not if you ask Megan,” he admits.

“I’m sure I won't,” Raistlin says. They're moving into a more populated quadrant of the city, and they're starting to get  _ looks _ .

Howl raises his eyebrows again. “Friendly folk here, I see,” he says. 

Raistlin graces him with a smile, sardonic and bitter. “To each other, maybe. But not to wizards, and certainly not to black-robed wizards.”

“Ah,” Howl says. “You could have  _ warned  _ me that the color  _ means _ something. What, are we the evil ones? Wicked, horrible creatures concerned only with our own interests?”

“How’d you guess?” Raistlin asks, sarcasm in his voice but a smile on his lips. “There are three orders of wizards-- the white, the red, the black. The good, the neutral, and the  _ evil _ , respectively.”

Howl snorts. “I see. Well, I always did look best in black, may as well play it up.” He straightens his back and quirks an eyebrow at Raistlin with a smirk. 

“Why do I fear where this is going,” Raistlin mutters, leading Howl to a fairly-empty tavern. Inside, the smell of garlic and fresh bread hangs heavy in the air, and the sound of pleasant conversation fills the space. Some of it dies down when the two black robes enter, but most of the tavern’s guests have been around enough not to mind. Still, even those stare longer than necessary at Raistlin’s skin and eyes.

Howl sets his face in a pleasant mask and stares straight back, especially at those who look too long at Raistlin. He leans closer to the other wizard and says in a low voice: “A table, my friend, or the bar?” 

“A table,” Raistlin corrects, his whisper whip-like, startling the bartender, “Near the fire.”

The elf nods nervously and leads them to a table in the back, and Raistlin collapses into one of the seats, coughing violently.

Howl waits until his coughing fit subsides, fidgeting slightly uncomfortably. He’s not sure if he should say something, but he doesn’t really want to, so he looks around the tavern. It’s old-looking, grimy like some of the cheaper establishments in Market Chipping. He feels as though he’s stepped back in time, which is a relatively common feeling for him at this point. Propping his chin in one hand, he drums his fingers on the table, watching the elven waiter circle around the room. He seems to be pointedly not looking at them. 

When Raistlin’s coughing quiets, Howl looks over at him. “What do you eat, here?”

Raistlin raises an eyebrow. “Whatever the chef has made for the day, usually. Bread, soup, potatoes. You're more likely to find variety in the drink than the food.”

“There’s no menu?” Howl says, offended. “Well.” He catches the bartender’s eye and waves him over, though he comes reluctantly. “I’ll have a glass of whatever your strongest drink is,” he says, turning on the charm. 

Raistlin sneers a little. “No  _ menus _ here, no.” When the bartender comes over, he says, “Wine, for me, and two of whatever the Cook’s made for today.”

The bartender nods and leaves, and Howl sighs, slumping to lay his head on the table. It’s sticky. He pulls away in disgust and tries to wipe his face discreetly. 

“I take it this isn't the kind of place you frequent back home,” Raistlin says, trying to hide a smile.

“Noo-ooo,” Howl drawls, still rubbing at his cheek. “I don’t go out much in Ingary. I have too many secrets to keep. And the bars in Wales are…  _ very _ different. We don’t have taverns, for one.” 

The bartender returns, setting a glass of wine in front of Raistlin, and a pitcher of something absolutely noxious-looking in front of Howl. Howl blinks at it, then thanks the waiter.

“No time to get absolutely plastered like on a completely different world two days before you’re going to die, right?” He says, grimacing.

Raistlin glances at Howl’s drink with disgust. “If you insist.”

“I do,” Howl says, taking a drink and gagging. “Hell’s teeth, that warms you up fast.”

Raistlin just shakes his head and takes a sip of his wine, picky about that as he is with everything else. “Some help you'll be when we get back.”

“Alcohol,” Howl says, pointedly taking another drink, “staves off anxiety. So yes, I should be some help.” He sighs, and pushes his glass across the table towards Raistlin. “Drink with me, Raistlin, you’re my only friend in the world,” he says, gesturing with as much melodrama as possible. 

“Ah, I didn't realize we’d reached  _ friendship _ levels so quickly,” Raistlin says sarcastically, grimacing and taking a sip of the concoction. It's not as bad as his tea, but it's certainly not pleasant.

“Then I have no friends,” Howl sighs, dragging the drink back to take another sip. “Which, I suppose, I should be used to. Woe is me.” He pushes it back to Raistlin. 

“No,” Raistlin says, pushing it back. “No more. And I've gone my whole life without friends, so quit your whining.”

“What!” Howl mock gasps, drinking more. “But you’re so pleasant and friendly!” He pushes it back at Raistlin, more emphatically this time.

“Hm,” Raistlin says, taking another sip of the drink. “I'm used to being the sarcastic one, not having it directed at  _ me. _ ”

“How the tables have turned,” Howl says, staring at his plate mournfully. “I suppose you’ll have to just do better.” 

“Do better at  _ what _ ?” Raistlin hisses.

“Being sarcastic,” Howl replies, taking another drink.

Raistlin glares.

“Weak,” Howl sniffs, and passes him the drink again. 

Raistlin glares harder, takes the drink from Howl, and chugs the rest of the cup’s contents.

Howl hoots, delighted, and falls over the table laughing. “Dear god, man, you are more than meets the eye!” He takes Raistlin’s wine in retribution, then waves his arms and calls for another round. 

Raistlin falls into another coughing fit, this one brought on by the alcohol and not chronic illness. “Give me my wine back.”

Howl takes a swig. “No.”

Raistlin reaches for it anyway. “Give it  _ back _ , or I'll  _ make you _ .”

This is honestly more fun than Howl has had in a good while, so he says: “Make me, then.”

Raistlin reaches for the words of magic to cast a spell, before realizing that that  _ may _ not be a good idea. “I could always just refuse to help you,” he says, settling back into his seat and trying to retain a calm demeanor.

Howl frowns. “I suppose you could.” He takes another drink of Raistlin’s wine. 

“Give me,” Raistlin says in even more of a whisper than usual, “My drink.”

“You drank all of mine,” Howl pouts. 

“You  _ challenged me to _ ,” Raistlin hisses.

“I challenged you in sarcasm.”

Raistlin waves a hand around vaguely. “Same thing.”

“Drinking and sarcasm?”

The bartender arrives with their second round and hurries away. Howl slides Raistlin’s drink back across the table. 

Raistlin sniffs and holds his drink close to him. “Thank you,” he says primly.

Howl cackles. “Anything for you,” he says, and has trouble getting it out of his mouth without slurring. 

“As it should be,” Raistlin says.

Howl just laughs. 

 

\---

 

“Gwlad, gwlad, pleidiol wyf i'm gwlad!” Howl bawls, one arm slung around Raistlin’s thin shoulders. 

Raistlin staggers a little under Howl’s weight. So  _ this  _ is what Caramon feels like, always helping him. “What language was that?” he asks, too drunk for it matter.

Howl continues singing, then laughs, knocking his head into the side of Raistlin’s. “It’s,” he says, slurring, “welsh. Welsh.”

“I still don't know what that  _ is, _ ” Raistlin says, petulantly. “Which annoys me.”

“It’s,” Howl laughs, “It’sh a Britonic language. A tiny little island in the Atlantic ocean.”

“That means nothing to me and you know it,” Raistlin snaps. “It's like me saying I grew up in Solace, frequently playing on the shores of Crystalmir lake.”

“That,” Howl replies, rubbing his face into Raistlin’s hair, “is not nothing. I can assume those are places and I am very happy for you.” 

Raistlin starts and shies away, surprised by the sudden contact. “Well….thank you,” he says, slightly drunk.

Howl stumbles, but catches himself on Raistlin’s shoulder. He starts singing again as they approach the Shoikan Grove. “Pob dyffryn, pob clogwyn, i'm golwg sydd hardd!”

Raistlin stops walking suddenly, noticing two figures standing near the Grove-- as near as they dare, which means the smaller of the two figures stands closer. “No. Not now.”

“Hm?” Howl replies, still humming. 

“We have visitors,” Raistlin says darkly.

Howl pulls his face out of Raistlin’s hair and squints towards the castle. “Do you n- do you know them?” he asks. 

“Unfortunately,” Raistlin says, just as the smaller of the two figures notices them. She makes an annoyed noise and starts storming over to them.

Howl ducks behind Raistlin. “I don’t like this,” he says, still giggling. 

“You've seen nothing yet,” Raistlin mutters darkly.

“You fucking  _ ass _ !” Is the first screeched words the approaching woman says to them. She's wearing a suit of blue armor fashioned to look like dragon scales, but she wears no helmet, revealing wild, curly dark hair and an unconventionally attractive face.

“Oh, gods,” Howl mutters. 

The woman gets up in Raistlin’s face, completely ignoring Howl, but Raistlin doesn't flinch away. “Caramon and I were  _ worried sick _ over you, you know,” she hisses, brown eyes narrowed to slits, “You're  _ always  _ at the Grove waiting for us when we get here. Where  _ were you?” _

Howl is terrified. He always is when confronted with women like this. He’s sort of scared of women in general when it comes down to it. He peers around Raistlin to get a better look. 

“It is,” Raistlin begins, mustering as much dignity as he can muster, though his words are a little slurred, “None of your business.”

“ _ You’re _ my business,” the woman hisses, poking Raistlin hard in the chest. “Got it?”

The other person finally comes up beside the woman, tall as Raistlin but much broader around. There are some obvious similarities in their features, however, noticeable without much looking. He seems concerned. “Raist? Who’s your friend?”

“Raist,” Howl hisses. “Who are these people?”

“My  _ darling _ family,” Raistlin answers.

The larger of the two strangers narrows his eyes at Howl. At the same time Raistlin answers, he says, “We’re his  _ family _ . Who are you?”

“My name,” Howl says, drawing himself up. He steps halfway out from behind Raistlin, then continues. “Is Howl Pendragon, royal wizard to the king in Ingary.” He bows, and wobbles. 

The woman turns her scowl on Howl. She's several inches shorter than him, but the effect is the same. “I've never heard of Ingary,” she says. “Where is it?”

“Nowhere you've heard of, dear sister,” Raistlin says, trying to push past her but a little too unsteady on his feet to do so.

Howl puts his hands on Raistlin’s shoulders, trying to steady him and failing. He laughs. “No one has heard of it,” he snickers. 

The tall stranger narrows his eyes further at Howl. The effect is fairly intimidating, with his heavy armor and weapons. Howl grits his teeth and resists the urge to run. 

Raistlin waves a hand at Howl. “They're harmless, at least while I'm around.”

Kitiara’s eyes widen. “Are you  _ drunk?  _ Unbelievable. I can't believe you managed to get him  _ drunk _ !” she says to Howl, cackling. She looks him up and down and grins. “I already like you.”

“Not entirely harmless, then,” Raistlin corrects.

Howl raises his eyebrows and leans on Raistlin, giving his sister the once-over in return. “May I- may I ask your name, lady?”

Kitiara snorts. “For a friend of Raistlin’s, you sure are charming. Kitiara Uth Matar, at your service,” Kitiara says with a low bow.

“It’s a pleasure,” Howl replies. “And Raistlin assures me,” he adds, nudging Raistlin as he does, “that we are  _ not _ friends.”

“Oh, please,” Kitiara says, “He'd never get drunk with anyone  _ less than _ .”

The other newcomer, Caramon, grumbles something unintelligible.

“And you are?” Howl asks, turning to the other man. He looks eerily similar to Raistlin. 

“Caramon,” Caramon says, holding a hand out for Howl to shake. When Howl takes it, Caramon squeezes harder than probably necessary.

“Why are you two  _ here _ ?” Raistlin hisses, cheeks flushed-- whether from embarrassment or the alcohol is anybody’s guess.

“Bah, we don't need a reason to visit our baby brother,” Kitiara says with a wide, crooked smile, obviously struggling to contain laughter at the whole situation.

“Caramon and I are the  _ same age _ ,” Raistlin grumbles.

Howl shakes his hand out, grimacing. 

“Caramon, if you could refrain from breaking the hands of my guests, I would  _ highly _ appreciate it,” Raistlin says, his words slurred. He tries to move past them all, toward the Grove, but stumbles slightly. Fortunately, Caramon’s there to catch him, just like he's always been.

Kitiara just starts laughing. “ _ How _ did you manage to get him so drunk?” she asks Howl. “I can  _ never _ get him to have any fun.”

“It wasn’t part- particularly hard,” Howl sniffs, wobbling. “The situation called for it.” He starts singing again, then: "Wait,” he stops, “Wait. Do either of you,” he says, looking between the two newcomers, “use magic.”

“Gross,” Kitiara says.

Even Caramon laughs a little, as he helps guide Raistlin to the Grove. “Nah, we’re not smart enough for that.”

“Speak for yourself, you great, blundering idiot,” Kitiara snaps, sounding a lot like Raistlin in that moment. “I just have better things to do with my time.” Kitiara turns a charming smile on Howl, looks him up and down in a blatant show of flirtation. “But you do magic, hm?”

Howl blinks, then gives her a disarming smile back. “I do, yes,” he says. “If you couldn’t tell from the robes- Raist, Raist, what are these ones again? What do the- the black ones mean.” 

Kitiara's smile falters a little at the strange question, but it doesn't take her long to bounce back. When Raistlin doesn't answer, just waves a vaguely beckoning hand back at Howl and Kitiara, Kitiara steps closer and traces a single gloved finger down the front of Howl’s robe. “It means your patron is Nuitari, god of darkness and the black moon.” She glances up at him, grins, then flounces off to join Caramon and Raistlin, stride proud and purposeful.

Howl’s jaw drops for a second before he can regain control over himself, and then he follows. 

Inside the tower, Caramon drops Raistlin into one of the kitchen chairs, and Kitiara immediately sets about opening cabinets and drawers. “Now  _ I  _ want to get drunk,” she says. “It's no fun being the only sober one.”

“I'm sober,” Caramon points out.

“Yeah, but you're no fun anyway,” Kitiara says.

Howl leans against the doorframe in the kitchen, attempting to strike a casual but still mostly serious pose. “Unfortunately,” he slurs, “I have magic to be doing, so will have to shee- see you fools later.” A large part of his brain wants to get drunker, but the rest of him doesn’t want to die. He’s not sure if he’s more scared of his imminent death-by-Calcifer, or Kitiara. 

“You are  _ not _ ,” Raistlin begins, before any of the others can protest, “doing magic while drunk. One wrong syllable emphasis, one unnecessary pause, and the repercussions can be… _ disastrous.” _

Kitiara presses a dusty, unopened bottle of wine into Howl’s hands. “Forget the magic mumbo-jumbo and have a drink with us. My baby brother  _ so rarely  _ has friends over, and I want to know more about you.”

Howl takes the wine bottle and smirks at her, already forgetting why he shouldn’t be drinking more right now. “Well,” he says, “in that case.” He looks down at the wine bottle in his hands, and says, “ _ Akhar _ .”

It pops open. 

“I will sew your mouth shut,” Raistlin threatens lowly.

Kitiara hops up on the table, right next to Raistlin, and takes a swig of her own bottle. “Why's that? I seem to recall you trying to flash fireballs and make the kender disappear last time we all drank in Solace together.”

“I asked you not to bring that up ever again _ ,” _ Raistlin hisses.

“Yeah, and I did it anyway.”

“Howl, was it?” Caramon asks. He stands tall, arms folded across his chest, and glowers at Howl. “How long have you been staying here?”

“About twenty-four hours,” Howl says, taking a swig. “Raist, you didn’t  _ tell _ me you were such a party animal!” 

“Shut up,” Raistlin snaps. “And Caramon, stop glowering like an idiot. If you have a problem with my guest, I'd thank you to say so.”

Caramon starts a little, and flushes red. “I don't-- I don't have a problem with him.” He drops his arms.

Kitiara grins and passes Caramon the bottle.

“You don’t have to like me,” Howl says sadly, staring down into the neck of his bottle. 

“Oh, now you've gone and made him sad,” Kitara says to Caramon. “Cheer up, kid. I already like you plenty. So does Raist.”

“I do  _ not _ ,” Raistlin sniffs.

“It’s fine,” Howl says. “And I’m not a kid,  _ thank  _ you.” 

“Sorry, no harm meant,” Kitiara says with another one of her lopsided grins. There's definitely a predatory edge to it. Raistlin rolls his eyes.

Howl takes another drink, feeling a trickle of sweat run down his back. It’s not that he isn’t attracted to Kitiara- he has  _ eyes _ \- but that he really prefers to have the upper hand in this sort of situation. He’s accustomed to being the pursuer, not the pursued.

She terrifies him.

Caramon and Raistlin share a look, and Caramon starts laughing. They've both seen that nervous-yet-interested look on enough people's faces to know what comes next: Kitiara steps up her game.

Howl pushes himself off from the doorframe and sinks into the other chair, near both Raistlin and Kitiara. He puts his legs up on the table and fixes Kitiara with a drunken glare. “So  _ what  _ is it,” he says, “that you  _ do _ , that is- that is so much more important than magic?”

Kitiara’s grin turns wicked. “Caramon doesn't like me talking about it in front of him.”

Howl frowns, and turns his gaze on Caramon.

“We’re both mercenaries, of sorts,” Caramon says, “But  _ one of us _ doesn't have much of a conscience.”

Kitiara grins and shrugs, and even Raistlin smiles a little. Howl gulps. 

“Not that this one's any better,” Kitiara says, ruffling Raistlin’s hair. He hisses and bats her arm away. “Where'd you two meet?”

“He stepped through a portal from another world, collapsed, and I dragged him, unconscious, back to the tower,” Raistlin grumbles.

“That’s about it,” Howl agrees. “Aw, you dragged me? How sweet.” He grins cheekily at Raistlin. 

Raistlin blinks, taken aback for a moment, then says, “I should have left you where you fell.”

Caramon looks between Raistlin and Howl with wide eyes. Never, in his entire life, has he seen Raistlin  _ flirt  _ before. To be fair, he's also never seen anyone flirt  _ with Raistlin _ . The fact that Howl apparently likes Raist enough to do so highly recommends him.

“Then  _ who  _ would get you into Ingary, you horrible little man?” Howl asks, pointing at him accusingly. Kitiara chokes on her drink, then dissolves into a fit of laughter.

“What’s Ingary?” Caramon asks.

“Where I’m from,” Howl takes another drink. “It’sssssssss another world.”

“He’s  _ joking _ ,” Raistlin says, glaring at Howl. “Always joking, Mr. Pendragon is.”

“I’m not! I’m sompletely- com. Completely serious!” Howl jabs him in the chest. “How come you get to call me  _ Mr _ . Pendragon when I don’t even know your last name? Hey!”

“Raist, you're traveling to another world?” Kitiara asks cheerily at the same time Caramon echoes, “Another world?” doubtfully.

“It is none of your business,” Raistlin says.

“ _ Raiiist _ ,” Howl whines, “what’s your last name?”

“It,” Raistlin says just as loftily, this time to Howl, “Is none of your business.”

Howl turns to Caramon. “Ca. Cardamom. Yes? Yes. What is… your last name.” He takes another drink. 

Kitiara cackles, and almost falls of the table, where she's still perched. “Yeah,  _ Cardamom _ . What's your last name?” 

Caramon scowls at her, but there's not a lot of venom behind it. “It's  _ Caramon _ , and it's  _ Majere.” _

“Thank you,” Howl says sincerely, reaching over to pat Caramon on the hand. He looks at Raistlin expectantly. 

“ _ What _ ?” Raistlin asks.

“Is that your last name?” Howl asks. He’s still patting Caramon’s hand. 

“Caramon, unlike Raistlin and I,” Kitiara says, removing Howl’s hand from Caramon’s and placing it on the table, “couldn't lie to save his life. Raistlin Majere. That's his name.”

“I’ll thank you not to disclose all of my secrets to a near-stranger,” Raistlin says.

Howl pouts. It’s a full-on pout this time, none of that pretending he was doing earlier. “I’ve told you a lot of my secrets,” he says sadly, taking another drink. He schools his face to look absolutely pathetic and turns the look on Raistlin. 

“Yes, but I don't see what you being bad at keeping secrets has to do with  _ me _ telling you  _ mine. _ ”

“I just mean we’re hardly strangers,” Howl says, drinking again. “You know- you. Youuuu know more about me than most of my ‘friends’ back home, you know.” 

Raistlin doesn't quite know what to say to that, so it's fortunate when Kitiara gives a bored sigh and redirects Howl’s attention with a, “So, you're from another world. How long are you gracing us with your presence?”

Howl shifts his gaze to her. “Until I die sometime tomorrow or the next day,” he says, pausing for effect. 

“Got it,” Kitiara says, and goes back to drinking.

Howl follows her lead, uncharacteristically quiet. 

“I’m confused,” Caramon says.

Howl says nothing, but shifts his gaze to Caramon. 

“This little charmer,” Kitiara says, pointing at Howl, “Came from some other dimension, right? And Raistlin wants to go to that dimension, probably because of some magic or other, but Green Eyes thinks he might die first. Am I right?”

“Raistlin,” Caramon sighs, “We’ve been through this, haven't we? You failed. Why isn't this world enough for you?”

“I didn't  _ fail _ ,” Raistlin hisses, angry in a way he hasn't been before. “I had to rescue you and the cleric before  _ your idiocy _ got both of you killed.”

Howl nods at Kitiara. “Got it in one, except I  _ know _ I’m going to die. I….” Realization passes across his face, his flat eyes widening. “I wasted an entire day getting drunk!” He drops his head to the table, completely oblivious to Raistlin and Caramon’s argument. “I always  _ do _ this!” 

“Hey, it's not a waste to spend your last hours happy,” Kitiara says with a shrug. “I can show you a little more happiness, if you like.”

Howl looks up at her sadly, and after a pause two of his brain cells manage to connect. “Oh,” he says. 

Caramon fake gags a little. Raistlin pretends he didn't hear.

“Just an offer,” Kitiara says, running a hand through her curly hair and succeeding at looking  _ completely _ disinterested. “Makes no difference to me, either way.”

Howl glances at Raistlin and Caramon, who are still arguing. “Well,” he says. “Well. I suppose I might as well.” 

“Atta boy,” Kitiara says with a grin. She stands and stretches in a very  _ tactful _ , languid way, right in front of Howl, and turns to Raistlin. “I'm going to crash for the night, little brother. Is my usual room open?”

Raistlin curls his lip and looks up at Kitiara from under his hood. “Of course,  _ big sister _ .”

Howl tears his eyes from Kitiara to look over at Raistlin. “You’ve got your hood up again,” he says. 

“How very observant,” Raistlin says.

“Why?” 

Raistlin blinks. “Why what?”

“The, the hood,” Howl gestures. 

“He likes being dramatic,” Caramon supplies.

“That’s fair,” Howl nods. 

“I think most of his choices are based solely on whether they're dramatic or not,” Caramon says, just tipsy enough to be frank.

Raistlin says nothing, neither confirming nor denying, but curls in on himself and huddles deeper into his robes.

Howl frowns, then shrugs and stands up, folding his arms into the sleeves of his robe. “Well,” he says. “I’m going to. To, well. I’m going.” 

“Have fun,” Caramon says awkwardly. Raistlin says nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes: 
> 
> 1\. raistlin majere doesn't know what a shower is  
> 2\. wikipedia says hen wlad fy nhadau is the welsh national anthem sung before rugby games. i do not play rugby, nor am i welsh, nor do i know the first thing about sports and the various differences between official games, and, like, non-official games? i'm sure howl knows a LOT of rugby songs. assuming this would be one of them!  
> 3\. howl referencing things about OUR world while two+ worlds displaced from it is incredibly funny to me.  
> 4\. linkin park - numb plays in the distance
> 
> as always, find me and em on twitter @pinesing and @anaphiel_. i'll probably get another chapter up tonight.


	3. DAY THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drama!

Howl wakes up with a splitting headache and groans. 

“Morning,” Kitiara says cheerfully, more cheerful than she feels, and finishes tugging her shirt on over her head. “You look like you're even worse off than me. That's comforting.”

“I feel like death,” Howl says. His pants are missing. 

“You look like it,” Kit agrees.

Howl pulls the blanket over his head, but the movement pulls at sore muscles he didn’t know he had. “Gods, woman, what did you  _ do _ to me? I’m bleeding!”

“Don't tell me it wasn’t fun,” Kitiara says, obviously trying harder to keep up the cheer from before. “You certainly sounded like you enjoyed it.”

Howl grumbles into the pillow. He’s noticed the change in Kitiara’s tone, but is too caught up in his own discomfort to pay attention to it. 

“Shouldn't have done it, though,” she says, conversationally, strapping on different pieces of her armor. “With the way Raist was flirting. I'm afraid he's not going to speak to me for a year.”

“What,” says Howl. 

Kitiara raises an eyebrow at him. “What, like you didn't notice? You were flirting back.”

Howl rolls to stare at her, eyes wide and worried. “What? I mean, yes, I was flirting with him, but he didn’t seem to, I mean, I figured I hadn’t…” he trails off and resorts to staring at her desperately. 

Kitiara gives him a flat look, most of her flirtation dropped now that she's gotten what she wanted. “My, you're lucky you're cute.”

“Ugh,” Howl groans, and rolls himself out of bed to loot around on the floor for his clothes. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Right, because you're going to die and everything,” Kitiara says, unsympathetic. “Well Caramon and I are travelling north; we’ll be out of your hair soon. I heard Raistlin get up pretty early-- I think he's in his library.”

“Hmmm,” Howl says, struggling into his pants. “Well. See you.” 

He heads for the library. 

“Nice meeting you,” Kitiara calls after him.

 

\--

 

Raistlin spent most of the night researching-- of course, that's  _ after _ he argued with Caramon,  _ after _ Carmon started sobbing at the mention of Raistlin leaving, and  _ after _ he sobered up. Worth it, if it gets this whole ordeal over with.

“Do you have a spell that will conjure a hangover cure?” Howl asks from the doorway, looking especially forlorn. His hair is down and tousled around his face and a line of bruises trail from his jaw under his collar. He looks like death warmed over. 

Raistlin spares him the barest glance. “I can't say that I do. Perhaps you should have--,” Raistlin pauses for a coughing fit, reaching for the tea he left sitting nearby, “--perhaps you should have thought of that  _ before _ you convinced everyone to get drunk with you.”

“I admit it wasn’t my best moment,” Howl mutters, heading for the stacks of books left on the table. “I do not like being scared.” 

Raistlin looks harder at Howl this time and frowns. “Fear is something to acknowledge and use, not run from.”

“Hm,” says Howl, and smiles tightly, flipping open the top book and settling in. 

“I may have figured some things out,” Raistlin says. “About the spell we need to cast.”

Howl looks up at him, a spark of interest in his glass-green eyes. 

“I've modified the spell I used to enter Takhisis’ realm and combined it with the principles behind  _ your _ spell.” Raistlin shoves a piece of parchment at Howl, one covered with various combinations of words and rituals. “Look over that and tell me what you think.”

Howl moves closer to Raistlin and picks up the sheet of paper. He’s barely read a line, however, when something  _ shifts _ and  _ squeezes _ and his chest suddenly feels very, very cold. He puts a hand over where his heart should be and looks up at Raistlin. 

“What's wrong?” Raistlin asks, sure Howl is just being dramatic again.

Howl takes a shaky breath and pitches forward, falling towards Raistlin.

Raistlin only has enough time to let out a started, “What--” and throw his hands up before Howl all but lands on top of him. He’s barely able to catch Howl and lower him to the ground without stumbling under both of their weights. “Howl?”

Howl lays back, scrabbling at his chest and staring with wide eyes into nothing at all. His breath comes fitfully. Raistlin curses and checks for a pulse-- only to be surprised when he can't find any. He casts a minor spell, one meant to detect ailments, but finds  _ nothing. _ He sits back, horrified, completely unsure of how to help Howl.

Howl goes still, and then stiller, and then even his breathing ceases. He falls back on the floor like a discarded mannequin, all arms and legs and hands unattractively jumbled together. 

Raistlin swears again. He never thought the day would come, but he wishes Goldmoon were here; she and her god would know what to do. He rushes to the door and calls for Caramon.

It takes Caramon about five seconds to sprint up the stairs and burst into the room. With all the sharp attention of a seasoned warrior, his eyes scan the room for danger and land on Howl’s body, sprawled on the floor. He rushes over to it. Kitiara is next to appear in the doorway, curious as to why Caramon disappeared so suddenly. 

“Oh,” she says when she sees Howl. “Raistlin, what did you do to him?”

“I didn't do  _ anything _ ,” Raistlin hisses. He’s taken out his spellbook, is frantically flipping through it to find some sort of solution to Howl’s predicament. “He just  _ collapsed.” _

 

___

 

Somewhere on another world, a log is added to a fireplace. 

 

—-

 

Howl takes a deep breath and opens his eyes to find all three of his new companions staring down at him. 

“He's awake,” Kitiara says.

“What did you do?” Raistlin asks Caramon.

“I didn't do anything. I was about to try to get him breathing again.”

Blinking, Howl looks around, then coughs in a fit that wracks his entire body. He rolls over onto his side and hacks up smoke and soot and sparks.

“Kitiara, tea,” Raistlin orders from where he's kneeling beside Howl. Kitiara fetches the pot of tea from the fire and pours a cup, passing it to Raistlin. 

“Howl?” Caramon asks.

Howl coughs up an entire ember and then rolls weakly to look at Caramon. His eyes are glassier and flatter than usual. 

“Can you sit up?”

He tries, then lays back and sighs, shaking his head sightly. He doesn’t trust himself to attempt speech quite yet. Caramon helps him to sit up, instead, gentle in the same way he always is with Raistlin, and Raistlin holds the mug of tea out to Howl. Whatever just happened, this should help. “When you're ready,” Raistlin says.

Howl collects himself and takes the tea, grimacing. After a moment, he closes his eyes and straightens up, sitting under his own power. “Thank you,” he says.

“What happened?” Caramon asks. Raistlin doesn't speak, but his gold eyes are fixed intently on Howl.

Howl brushes his hair out of his eyes. “I guess… the fire went out,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how I’m still alive, unless… hm.” He trails off. 

“Unless?” Kitiara asks.

“Unless Michael came back early,” Howl muses with his eyes closed. “He must have. Calcifer can’t pick up firewood. I’ll have to tell Michael he saved my life.” 

“Who's Michael?” Caramon asks.

“My apprentice,” Howl replies. 

“Oh. Like Dalamar is to Raist,” Caramon says.

Raistlin frowns.

“I guess,” Howl sighs. 

“So this means you're not going to die, then?” Kitiara asks. She doesn't quite understand what's happening, a  _ very _ annoying feeling for her, and it shows in her tone.

“I suppose it does,” Howl says, looking down at his hands. He looks back up at Raistlin. “We have more time.”

“What a relief,” Raistlin says, actually, truly relieved. It shows in his tone. Caramon gives him a strange look.

“Yes,” says Howl. He flexes his hands a few times. “I am going to buy Michael  _ whatever _ he wants.” 

Raistlin raises an eyebrow. “You have to make it back first, my friend.”

Howl grins. “That I do.”

“Does this mean you'll stop the incessant whining about death?” Raistlin asks.

Howl purses his lips. “Not in the slightest.” 

“Now you’ll know how annoying it is,” Kitiara says to Raistlin.

Howl cackles. 

“I do not  _ whine about death _ ,” Raistlin hisses. “If anything, I make  _ occasional observations _ .”

“Oh, everything sounds whiny in that voice of yours,” Kitiara says.

“It does  _ not _ .”

Raistlin and Kitiara both look at Caramon to see whose side he's going to take. Caramon weighs his options. On one hand, Raistlin is Raistlin. On the other, he has to travel with Kitiara for another week or so. “You do whine about it  _ sometimes _ , Raist.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the occasional observation of our own mortality,” Howl says primly, nobly attempting to defend Raistlin. 

Raistlin looks smug, and Kitiara groans. “I can't believe there are two of you.”

Howl hauls himself to his feet, shakily, stumbling slightly and taking a deep breath, and then extends a hand to Raistlin. “Come, my friend,” he says, “Let’s get back to the magic.” 

Raistlin stands on his own, because he can, now, and brushes his robes off with the air of someone completely unaffected by everything that just happened. “Let’s.”

The rest of the day passes in a flurry of books and dust, hushed voices and scribbled notes. Howl finds himself starting to grasp the shape of magic in this world, which makes it all the more frustrating when he gets something wrong or misunderstands a component. Magic here is so much more structured, so logical. 

It annoys him. 

The tower is, at least, slightly less dull with Caramon and Kitiara around. Caramon opens curtains and clears clutter where he can, and Kitiara bugs first Raistlin, then Howl, and then, when she realizes she won't get reactions she wants from  _ either _ of them, follows Caramon around and criticizes his “mother-henning.”

“The Great Warrior, Hero of the Lance, Caramon Majere,” she can be heard saying to him in the hallway. “Where is he now? Why, cleaning his sickly brother’s home because said brother is too lazy to do it himself.”

Raistlin, who'd been flipping through an old tome and pretending not to listen, mutters “ _ Lazy _ ,” under his breath.

“Nothing wrong with living in your own filth if that’s what you want,” Howl says absently, not looking up from the line of perfect letters he’s inscribing in the margins of his notes. 

“I have better things to do with my time,” Raistlin agrees, not looking up from his book, either.

“Exactly,” says Howl. “It’s not like you don’t know where everything is, anyway.” 

“ _ Thank _ you,” Raistlin says. “That's what I've been saying. And even if I  _ do  _ happen to misplace something, a simple locating spell will suffice.”

“You understand me,” Howl says, then passed Raistlin his page of notes. “Take a look at this.” 

Raistlin takes the notes and reads through them slowly, brows furrowed in concentration. His hood is down and his hair tied back, and there are heavy bags under his eyes from spending most of the previous night either drinking or studying. He makes a few corrections and passes them back. “I think you're onto something there.”

Howl smiles. “Wonderful. I’m going to go loot your kitchen. Do you want anything?”

“No,” Raistlin says, without so much as a thank you.

Howl shrugs and heads for the door, traipsing his way to the kitchen. 

He’s rummaging around in the back of a cupboard when he hears footsteps enter the kitchen. Assuming it’s Raistlin, he doesn’t take his head out of the door, but calls over his shoulder to him: “Decided you want something after all?”

“Sorry?” Caramon asks, not sure if the strange wizard is talking to him or….himself. He is strange, after all. Maybe even stranger than Raist.

“Huh- Oh! Caramon, hello,” Howl says, extracting his upper half from the cupboard with a loaf of bread that’s only mostly moldy. He grins. He’s in a much better mood now that the threat of imminent death has been removed. 

“Hello, Howl,” Caramon says, looking at the bread. “You're probably not going to find any better than that here, if food’s what you're looking for. Raist doesn't do a very good job taking care of himself.”

“I’ve noticed,” Howl says, grimacing at the bread. “But, well. Nothing a toaster can’t fix.” 

Caramon blinks at him. “Fire?”

Howl blinks, then remembers where he is. “Yes?” he replies, then gets out a frying pan and sets it on the hearth. 

“Oh,” Caramon says. “Yeah, good. Raist said he didn't want any, I’m guessing?”

“He did say that,” Howl responds. “Does he ever eat?”

“Rarely,” Caramon says, clearly worried. “You should bring him up some anyway. Sometimes you just have to make him.”

“Good idea,” Howl says. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.” 

“Yeah,” Caramon says, unsurprised. “No offense, but you have the look of someone who doesn't know how to take care of himself, too.”

“Hm,” Howl says, awkward. “I manage.” 

“So does Raistlin,” Caramon points out, “But that’s not the same thing as doing well.”

“What’s your definition of doing well, then?” Howl asks, laying three thick slices of bread down on the pan. 

“Not just  _ managing _ ?” Caramon says, sort of questioningly. “Being aware of what you need, inside and out, and not getting too caught up in what's ahead or behind.”

“Oh,” says Howl. “Then no, I’m probably not very good at that.”

“See? Told ya. You have the look. After clinging to Raist’s side for twenty-five years, I know it when I see it.”

Howl snorts. “Twenty-five years, hm?”

“Yeah, well, I mean, we’re twenty-nine now. Raistlin hasn't needed me for…a while.”

“Ah,” says Howl, unsure of how to respond. 

Caramon just shrugs kind of awkwardly. “He used to be….not in the best health. I was always there for him. But now he's...better. Good enough to go to Ingary without me, apparently. I don't think would've even told me, if we hadn't showed up when we did.”

That’s cold, Howl thinks, though in a way he understands.  _ And I thought I was the heartless one _ . Without meeting Caramon’s eyes, he flips the bread slices over. “You know, I am not originally from Ingary. I found it much in the way Raistlin has.” He shakes the pan around. The bread is browning nicely. It should hide how stale it’s become. “I have a sister,” he continues. “Back in Wales.” 

“No kidding,” Caramon says with a broad grin, flowing with the subject change easily. “Older or younger?”

“Older,” Howl says, setting the bread on a plate. “She has two kids, young ones. About yea high,” he gestures. “I visit them a lot.” 

“That’s nice,” Caramon says. He doesn't say it in the way people  _ usually  _ say it, condescending and dismissive; it's clear he really means it. “Is your sister nice? Or is she...like Kitiara.”

“She’s…. terrifying,” Howl admits. “So, more like Kitiara. I suppose she’d be happier with me if I saw her more often, but I made the doorway to Wales specifically so only I could open it.” He stares at Caramon expectantly. 

“Ah, well, it sounds like you're trying, at least,” Caramon says, missing Howl’s look entirely, “No matter what she says.”

“Hell’s teeth, man, I’m trying to help you here,” Howl snaps, exasperated. “Do you want to be able to visit Raistlin in Ingary?” 

Caramon blinks. “I can do that?”

“No, but  _ I _ am the most powerful wizard in Ingary, and I can do whatever I want,” Howl says. “And maybe I want to help you.”

Caramon’s eyes go wide. “Why would you want that?”

“Why does that matter?” Howl retorts. 

Caramon’s eyes go from drastically wide to narrow in the span of seconds. “I dunno. It doesn't, I guess.”

“I don’t have ulterior motives, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Howl says, slapping jam onto the bread. “I just thought you might want to see him once in a while.” He hands Caramon a slice of bread. 

“I...yeah. Yeah, that'd be nice. Thank you,” Caramon says. Any more of this and he may be on the verge of tears.

Howl doesn’t answer, just continues spreading jam. He smiles. “Well, I’m off to force-feed your brother.”

“Good luck,” Caramon says. “I don’t envy you.” At that moment, Kitiara can be heard one floor up yelling for Caramon. “Guess I’m off, too.”

Howl bows, and leaves. When he gets back to the library he shoves the bread into Raistlin’s hands and doesn’t let him argue. Raistlin frowns at Howl, but dutifully eats the bread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. howl's a bottom. OBviously  
> 2\. sort of estimated based on book/movie parallels how long calcifer would last without someone tending him, and the effect that would have. 
> 
> hit us up on twitter! @pinesing is me and @anaphiel_ is em.


	4. DAY FOUR

By the end of the next day, Howl and Raistlin have something that, with their powers combined, might just work. Howl was expecting to come up with something he could do on his own, but the presence of both him and Raistlin is integral to this spell’s functioning. It creates a balance between them that echoes the structure of magic in this world. 

Howl still feels like it’s missing something. 

“There  _ has _ to be something else we can add,” he says, petulant. He has his feet up on the table next to where Raistlin works. “It needs  _ something _ . Some… flair.” 

Raistlin frowns at him. “Magic isn't about  _ flair. _ What did you have in mind?”

“It seems too…. particular to this world. We need something more to draw Ingary towards us.” 

“Hm,” Raistlin says. 

“Hm,” Howl replies, leaning back. “Hm, indeed.” 

“That may be a good idea...but you know Ingary best. What sort of flair would draw it to us?”

“I wish I could remember the spell I used to first get there,” Howl muses. “I can remember bits and pieces of the spells I combined for it, but not the main piece. I need to think.” He pushes away from the table and starts puttering about, tapping a finger on his face. “I’m going to bathe. Perhaps I’ll have an idea.”

Raistlin watches Howl putter, half-amused and half-thoughtful. “Whatever you think you need. You have the time, now.”

“You are so very right, my friend,” Howl says, and disappears for hours. 

 

—-

 

When he returns, he smells of roses and is in a much improved mood. He’s managed to clean the outfit he arrived in, almost definitely with magic, and has the flowing white sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The colorful jacket is slung around his shoulders like a cape. 

“I’ve got it!” He says, slamming a piece of paper down in front of Raistlin. “We just need to work these words in.” Howl’s scrawl almost moves on the page, the words impossible to read unless you looked at them sideways. “They’re the first words of power I learned,” he explains. “They may not do much in this world, but they will tie Ingary’s magic to Krynn’s.” 

“I see,” Raistlin says, looking over the words closely. “Teach me the meaning and pronunciation,” he orders, “And then we will find a way to work it into the spell we have drafted.”

“Gladly,” Howl says, and he does. 

After more studying and rearranging of the spell, as the time flies and it passes into late afternoon, Raistlin finally slumps back into his seat. “I need a break,” he says in his usual half-whisper. “If only to think of something else for a while.”

Howl looks over at him. “I wasn’t aware you were capable of taking breaks,” he says conversationally. 

Raistlin smiles a little bitterly. “I am, unfortunately, human, no matter what steps I took to try to change that. And if I continue for much longer without rest or breaks, the result-- for my magic  _ and _ my mood-- will not be pleasant.”

“Rest, then,” Howl replies. “I’ll make tea.” 

Raistlin tries to wave him off. “I’ll do it. It needs to be made in a particular way.”

“I know,” Howl says, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve watched you. But,” he says, backing off, “suit yourself.”

Raistlin sets about making the tea, slower than usual. He pours two cups, not bothering to ask whether Howl wants one or not. “The tea was given to me by the same man who cursed my eyes,” he says conversationally.

“How considerate,” Howl says, watching.  

Raistlin snorts. “He really thinks he is.”

“Hm,” Howl hums in agreement. “I take it you don’t agree with that. I don’t think I would either.” 

“False sympathy is a waste of everyone’s time,” Raistlin hisses. “But speaking of curses, what was that yesterday?”

“What do you mean,” Howl replies, cautious. 

“As I understand it,” Raistlin says, passing Howl a cup, “Your fire demon, as well as the curse you won’t-- or can’t-- talk about, are linked to what happened yesterday. Your  _ missing bits, _ too. I’m beginning to piece it together, I think. If I’m right, and I feel for a pulse,” Raistlin begins, taking one of Howl’s hands and placing two bony fingers on his wrist, “I'll find none.”

“Observant, aren’t you,” Howl says, but leaves his wrist in Raistlin’s grasp. “You’re right that I can’t talk about it. That is part of the contract, you see.” He taps on the top of Raistlin’s hand with the hand the other wizard isn’t holding on to. “But if you figure it out yourself, well. That’s another story.” 

“Can you tell me whether this curse was voluntary or involuntary? Did you agree to it, or was it like my eyes?” Raistlin asks, those same eyes boring into Howl’s.

“Yes,” Howl says, his breath catching slightly in his chest. “I did.” 

Raistlin nods, and then, purely as a matter of curiosity, asks, “Do you regret it?”

Howl considers his answer. The light of the candles flickers across Raistlin’s golden skin, his face only inches from Howl’s. “I don’t think I do,” he decides. “Even if it’s getting harder to bear.”

“I see,” Raistlin says. “What did you get in return?”

“Power,” Howl says, absently. “Magic. A friend, I suppose. I didn’t really do it for me.” 

“Ah,” Raistlin says. The first two make sense to him. The latter two...he's not as sure about. He straightens, and removes his hands from Howl’s.

Howl looks over at him, glassy eyes inscrutable. “I think you’ll like Ingary,” he says. 

“I think I will, too,” Raistlin says, settling back into his own seat with a sigh. “The magic sounds...quite interesting.”

“It is,” Howl says happily. “The world I come from has many stories, and all of them are true in Ingary. Seven-league boots, castles that move- that one’s mine- mythical beasts, falling stars. It’s all quite enchanting.” 

“There are mythical beasts and falling starts here, too, many even  _ I  _ would not like to meet,” Raistlin says, closing his eyes. “But I would like to see your moving castle.”

“Calcifer and I designed it,” Howl laughs. “I’m rather proud of it.” 

“When you say move,” Raistlin begins, “Walk, float, teleport, or fly?”

“More like…. drag itself along the ground. It doesn’t tear up the turf much, the stones move like wheels or a conveyor belt- it’s all magic.” 

“Conveyor belt,” Raistlin repeats slowly, testing the words in his mouth, “You say many things I don't understand. It annoys me, not understanding.”

Howl laughs. “I really must take you to Wales.” 

“I’m in for even more confusion there, I gather from your tone,” Raistlin guesses.

“ _ So _ much more,” Howl agrees, and pats Raistlin on the arm. 

Raistlin glares without much force, then, “Ah, well. That just means there's so much more that I can learn.”

“That’s the spirit,” Howl says, leaning back and stretching like a cat. 

“It is,” Raistlin says, watching Howl without even realizing he’s doing it. He’s hit by a coughing fit, then, likely from the strain he’s been putting on his body the last few days. He turns away from Howl, coughs into his sleeve to hide the blood. Howl looks alarmed, but doesn’t say anything, just passes his own mug of tea over to Raistlin. 

“Thank you,” Raistlin says once the fit is over. He accepts the tea, his own cup having been empty for a while now.

“It’s not a problem,” Howl says. “What do you have for doctors here? Perhaps you should get that checked out.” He’s a master of hiding worry, but the presence of the emotion surprises and scares him. 

“We have clerics who can heal the gravest injuries in a matter of seconds,” Raistlin says, oblivious to Howl’s worry, “But this is the price I paid for my magic.”

“Are you not cursed enough?” Howl asks. “Why not let them heal it?”

“I'm sure many in this world would tell you that I am not,” Raistlin says, studying his golden hands, “After the things I’ve said and done. And it’s not, at this point, a matter of  _ letting _ someone heal me. Even if they could, despite the color of my robes, I’m not sure they  _ would.  _ Such is my infamy.”

“Ah,” says Howl, resolving to do something about it once Calcifer is in reach. “Infamy.” It’s a question as much as a statement. 

“Infamy,” Raistlin repeats. “I've saved the world far more than I've harmed it, but still, it is hard for anyone to trust someone like me.” He's still studying his hands, a trace of disgust working its way into his voice.

Howl watches him. There are stories hidden in his words, but he doesn’t feel the need to pry. He knows of infamy, but his own is self-created, a barrier he put up to keep himself safe. This is different. He feels the need to comfort Raistlin, but isn’t sure how to. “I’m finding it rather easy to trust you, myself,” he says.

Raistlin looks up at Howl and smiles sharply. “Then you're more foolish than I gave you credit for,” he says. Then, after a short pause, “But I am glad.”

Howl smiles back. “I am, at times, a fool,” he says, then pats Raistlin on the arm again, at a loss for what else to do. 

Raistlin has to resist the urge to pull his arm back, surprised by the casual contact. Even Dalamar, even  _ Kitiara and Caramon _ , avoid touching Raistlin whenever possible. He doesn't understand Howl at all. “It takes a truly great fool to  _ admit  _ he's a fool,” he says.

“Ah,” says Howl. “Then that’s what I am.” He leans back, arms behind his head. His sleeves dangle elegantly. “I really don’t know if I  _ want  _ you to meet Calcifer or if I’m terrified of the idea,” he muses.

“Calcifer?” Raistlin asks, then, piecing it together, “Ah. Your fire demon.”

“Yes,” Howl says. “He would like you, I think.” 

Raistlin stares at Howl. When Howl doesn’t hear a response, he looks over at Raistlin and raises an eyebrow. Finally, Raistlin asks, “Why do you say that?”

“He likes people with magic,” Howl supplies, “Clever people, with potential. He’s thousands of years old, you know.” 

“I did not know,” Raistlin says. “Is it common to live so long in Ingary, or is that a luxury reserved only for fire demons?”

“Fire demons only, I’m afraid,” Howl says. “Most demons, actually. Sometimes the humans who make contracts with them as well, though they tend to…. change, after a while.” 

Raistlin raises an eyebrow at that.

“It’s like they hollow out inside,” Howl says. “It’s unfortunate. Oh well.” 

Raistlin snickers, then laughs, then coughs. “ _ Unfortunate _ ,” he repeats, when he can.

Howl frowns at him. “Yes?” 

Raistlin bites back his smile and shakes his head.

Howl shoves the papers back towards him. “Well, then. Let’s put the finishing touches on this, shall we?”

“Yes,” Raistlin says. He gathers the various drafts together. “Then you'll have to memorize it backwards and front. I won't perform this spell with you until you can recite it back to me perfectly.” 

Howl bows sardonically. “Whatever you say, Master Raistlin.” 

Raistlin’s lips quirk up into a smile. “That's what I like to hear.”

 

—-

 

Several hours later they’re done: the spell finalized, components gathered, words rehearsed. 

Howl stretches and grins, excited. “Shall we, then?”

Raistlin shoots Howl a scathing look. “ _ You _ may have an apparently boundless supply of energy, but I need sleep before casting a spell such as this.”

“Oh,” Howl says. “Is it that late?”

Raistlin stifles a yawn. “Late enough. I wonder Kitiara and Caramon have gone off to.”

Howl cringes. “Your sister is terrifying,” he says. 

“I completely agree,” Raistlin says. “You should have seen her during the war. It was worse, then, because she really was ready to kill any one of us. Now, she’s...well. Slightly more reasonable.”

“You mean she’s not going to bite my head off like a praying mantis?” Howl asks, shuddering. “Because I feel like she’s going to.” 

Raistlin almost smiles. “I'll stop her, if she tries.”

Howl slings an arm around Raistlin’s thin shoulders, laughing. “I appreciate that,” he says. 

Raistlin goes a little tense at Howl’s touch, but he tries not to shy away. He clears his throat. “Yes, well, I  _ am  _ likely the only one in this world who could do it, so…”

“My savior,” Howl says, loosening his grip slightly. He’s still chuckling. He can feel how tense Raistlin is, but having the experience he does he knows that his touch is welcome- Raistlin would move away if it weren’t. 

“Hey, Raist, do you--,” Caramon, barging into the room, freezes in the doorway and stares at the two wizards with his mouth hanging slightly open. His eyes, fixated on Howl’s arm around Raistlin’s shoulders, are practically bugging out of his head. “Uh.” 

“Hello!” Howl chirps. 

“Hey,” Caramon says weakly.

Raistlin squirms out of Howl’s grasp. “What do you want?” he snaps at Caramon.

Caramon stares at him a moment longer. “Uh...I don't actually remember why I came up here, now.”

Howl’s side feels colder all of a sudden, but he tries not to let the disappointment show on his face. He grins awkwardly at Caramon. “Can’t have been that important, then.”

“Guess not,” Caramon says, still clearly in a state of shock. “You guys still working? It's getting pretty late.”

“We just finished, actually,” Howl says, looking over at Raistlin. 

“Oh! Good,” Caramon says, a little too genuinely, considering the end of his and Raistlin’s argument about it last night. Raistlin narrows his eyes at Caramon. “You doing the spell tonight?”

“Nah,” Howl says. “Your baby brother needs his beauty sleep.” 

Raistlin scowls at Howl and Caramon guffaws, great, loud laughter nothing at all like his twin’s.

Howl snickers and chucks Raistlin under the chin. “Gotta keep up that complexion,” he says. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling so brave today, with the touching and flirting and closeness. It might be relief, the knowledge that soon he’ll be home, he’s not going to die, and he won’t have to give up his new friend. It might be something else.

This, somehow, makes Caramon laugh even  _ harder _ . It shouldn't be possible, with Raistlin’s skin tone, for him to blush, but he manages it anyway, all while trying desperately to keep a severe glare fixed on Howl. Howl smiles at him. It isn’t a cheeky grin, it doesn’t have any extra charm injected into it. It’s genuine and imperfect. 

“I should probably sleep too,” Howl says. 

“Hm,” Raistlin says, too distracted by Howl’s smile to fully process his words. Then, shaking himself, “I’d like to comb through the spell one more time before sleep; stay and join me if you'd like, or don't.”

Howl shrugs. “I’ll stay,” he says. “It’s best to be prepared.” 

“I agree,” Raistlin says. He waves at the doorway without looking. “Caramon, you can leave.”

Caramon frowns. “Alright, but Raist, you need rest…”

“I  _ will _ , Caramon,” Raistlin says. When Caramon’s gone, Raistlin sits and holds out the parchment, crammed with words of magic, so that Howl can sit beside him and read it as well. Howl does, and leans in, mumbling the words under his breath. He’s pressed close to Raistlin on one side, and it’s comfortable. 

They study the spell in silence, the room warm and the space between the two of them even warmer, and it isn't long before Raistlin, completely drained from the socialization and the research, begins to drift off. It's been several years since he's gone adventuring like he used to, and after living in one place for so long, he's grown accustomed to a quiet, studious lifestyle. This is a change. He ends up falling asleep on Howl’s shoulder, the words of magic Howl’s murmuring under his breath lulling, taking the form of a strange lullaby.

Howl doesn’t even notice his sleeping companion until he’s run through the spell a few more times and turns to Raistlin with a question, only to find him curled against his shoulder, fast asleep. He looks oddly vulnerable like this- his face softens in sleep, more open and relaxed than it ever is while Raistlin is awake. He looks younger. The sight strikes a chord of some sort in Howl’s empty chest, and all of a sudden he feels overwhelmed, terrified. He needs out. He needs fresh air. He needs- something, so he slithers out from under Raistlin and bolts for the door, leaving the other wizard on the couch. 

He goes up. 

He hasn’t seen the higher levels of the tower yet, but he doesn’t stop to look around, racing his own mind through the otherworldly chill until he comes out on a balcony at the very top, under the stars. He doesn’t look up at them. He slumps against the door he came through and tries to calm his breathing. 

A few minutes later, someone pushes at the door, shoving hard enough to dislodge Howl when their first attempt didn't work. Kitiara steps out onto the balcony, looking around curiously. Howl scrambles backwards, reflexively keeping out of her line of sight. 

“I know you’re up here, ass,” she calls out. “I followed the sound of frantic footsteps. It's not smart to go wandering around this tower alone, you know. There are...dark things,” she says. Even Kitiara, who's hardly felt fear in her life, gives a shudder.

“I can handle myself,” Howl grumbles, standing up and brushing himself off. He crosses his arms and stares out from the balcony, refusing to go and face Kitiara. She can find him herself. 

Kitiara huffs. “Well, fine, next time I'll just  _ let _ undead spirits eat you up.” It's too dark to see, but she's got her hands on her hips and is glaring into the night.

“Maybe you should,” Howl sighs, despondent.

“Uh huh,” Kitiara repeats slowly, “What's the matter with you? Caramon says you two worked the spell out.”  

“Nothing’s the matter,” Howl says. “We worked it out, everything’s great, it’s all going wonderfully.”

Kitiara groans. “I don't have the patience for this; I'm going back downstairs. Good luck not getting eaten.”

“Hm,” Howl says, then makes a decision and turns. “Kitiara.”

“Yeah?” Kitiara asks.

“Where is Raistlin’s room?”

It takes Kitiara a moment to answer; she's so busy trying to parse the sudden subject change. “A floor above Dalamar’s. Why?”

“I just need to drop him off,” Howl replies. 

“Right,” Kitiara says. “Of course. Hey, Howl?”

“Yes?”

“I want you to know, but I have a legion of this world’s fiercest dragons at my beck and call. I have killed and tortured men in more ways than you can probably even imagine. I've killed friends, lovers. I  _ also _ practically raised Raistlin myself, and while he and I haven’t always been on the best terms, we’re on good ones now. If you hurt my baby brother, or let any harm come to him in this other world of yours, I will  _ slaughter _ you,” she promises. She says all of this lightly, her tone not matching her words.

Howl swallows hard. If he had a heart, it would be beating in his eardrums. “Duly noted,” he replies.

“Glad to hear it,” Kitiara says brightly, and holds the door open for Howl.

Howl gives her a stilted, terrified smile and heads back downstairs to the library. Raistlin is still asleep on the couch, curled in on himself in a way that speaks volumes about him. Howl sighs and pushes his hair out of his eyes, then carefully lifts the other wizard up and into his arms. He weighs almost nothing, but his limbs are long and gangly and so Howl has a hard time finding the appropriate way to balance him. He settles on one arm under Raistlin’s knees and the other around his chest, with his head pillowed on Howl’s shoulder. 

With that sorted, Howl heads upstairs, praying that Raistlin hasn’t left any sort of strange trap on his door. 

He hasn’t. Howl remembers belatedly that Raistlin doesn’t really have visitors. The other wizard’s room is bare and plain- none of the accoutrements or decorations that Howl himself has at home, nor any sort of evidence that a person lives here as even Dalamar’s room has. He sets Raistlin gently on the bed and pulls the blanket up over him, then steps back and shakes his head. 

“Gods. Who  _ am _ I?” he says to himself, then turns and leaves. 


	5. DAY FIVE

Raistlin wakes up in his own bed, which is strange, as he distinctly remembers falling asleep in his study. Then he remembers that Caramon and Kitiara are visiting, and it must have been Caramon who carried him up here. Still taking care of Raistlin, even now.

He climbs out of bed and stretches, then, leaving his room and finding no one else yet awake, quickly bathes before returning to his study. If they're performing this spell today, he needs to prepare for leaving. The majority of his spellbooks will mostly likely be useless in Ingary, unfortunately, but there are some-- his first, for example, that he refuses to part with purely for sentimental reasons. His clothes, well, all he has are the black robes of his order. He’ll have to get new clothes, if this isn’t what wizards wear there.

Once he’s all packed, he ends up just standing in his study and doing a lot of thinking. An hour or so later, there’s a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” he announces, pulling himself back to the present, away from the future.

Howl pushes the door open, sticking his head into the room. He’s clearly already bathed, as the scent of lilac and hyacinth flow into the room with him. “Are you ready?” He says. 

“Yes, I believe so,” Raistlin says. He feels surprisingly well-rested; if there was ever a time to cast this spell, it would be now. “I need to go speak with Kitiara and Caramon before we cast the spell, though. They need me to escort them out of the tower.”

“Wonderful,” says Howl. His face is carefully composed, his eyes distant. “Let’s get to it, then.”

Raistlin raises an eyebrow at Howl, but pushes past him to go stop by Caramon and Kitiara’s rooms.Once they're all awake and assembled in the kitchen, Raistlin explains to them that they need to leave.

“But I want to say goodbye,” Caramon says, “Or, I mean, watch you go.”

Raistlin rolls his eyes. “You can say goodbye when I escort you back to Palanthas. Now, or later, it won't make any difference.”

Kitiara shrugs and crosses her hands behind her head. “Works for me. We need to get going, anyway.”

“I guess…” Caramon hedges.

Howl shoves his hands in his pockets, hanging back. 

“Let’s go,” Raistlin says, then, waving dismissively at Howl, “You can stay here.” 

It doesn't take Caramon and Kitiara long to gather their things; they're used to packing quickly, after the lives they've led. Raistlin escorts them both back through the Grove. Kitiara gives Raistlin a quick-- involuntary, on his part-- hug and a sock on the arm that would probably bruise, and waves a goodbye like it'll only be a matter of weeks before they see each other again. She's always been like this; goodbyes have never bothered her, or at least, she's always pretended like they don't.

Caramon takes this goodbye harder. It's not the first time Raistlin has given him a goodbye that, for all intents and purposes, may be permanent, nor is it the first time he's left Caramon alone with little warning. But there's something about _traveling_ _to another world_ that has a note of finality the previous goodbyes haven't had, and Caramon feels it. When they say goodbye, Raistlin lets Caramon hug him, lets him cry on his shoulder in a way he would have mocked years ago. 

Eventually, the two warriors leave, and Raistlin returns to the tower. He finds Howl still in the kitchen, where he'd left him.

“Goodbyes said?” Howl asks, some of his former cheer returned to his voice. 

“I’m sure Caramon would've liked to have said more,” Raistlin answers.

“I find him sweet,” Howl says. “If a bit clingy.”

“Congratulations, you've just summed up the entirety of his complexity in two sentences,” Raistlin says, tone noticeably not as harsh as it could have been.

Howl raises an eyebrow and smiles, then claps Raistlin on the shoulders. “I’m going to  _ die _ of anticipation, my friend,” he says excitedly, squeezing. His hands are large compared to Raistlin’s thin frame. “Let’s do some magic.” 

Raistlin brushes Howl’s hands off, determined not to have a repeat of yesterday’s foolishness. He does, however, allow himself a smile. “Upstairs, then, shall we?”

“Lead the way,” Howl bows. 

Raistlin sneers a little at the bow, but he does. Howl follows. They make their way to the top of the tower, out under the sun, and begin their preparations. Howl works fastidiously but haphazardly, dashing about and leaving pieces half-finished to start something else, returning when the new piece was half-ready. 

Raistlin keeps getting distracted from  _ his  _ end of the preparation’s by Howl’s  _ haphazard _ work, and spends most of his time either snapping at Howl or complaining about his sloppiness. He draws a circle of chalk on the ground, lined with the necessary words of magic, and takes care that Howl doesn't accidentally scuff it with his frenzied preparing.

When they're all set, and Raistlin has double checked everything, he turns to Howl. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Howl says, straightening his back. 

Raistlin nods and takes his place in the circle. “Stand across from me. You remember all the words?”

Howl nods, taking his place across from Raistlin.

“You’re  _ sure _ ?” Raistlin asks. When Howl nods again, he continues, “Magic here requires  _ absolute concentration.  _ A  _ single _ stray thought, and it can have dire consequences for the outcome of the spell.”

“I understand,” Howl says. “You  _ have _ told me three times.”

“It takes my usual company far more than three times to get something into their heads,” Raistlin says by way of explanation, the closest he's ever going to come to an apology.

“Good thing I am not your usual company,” Howl replies primly. 

“I suppose not. Let’s begin.”

They both ready their concentration, then reach for the words of power. The spell was written such that the lines were allocated between the two of them, and it's  _ long _ . Strings of sentences that last for pages at a time, each with their own intentions, meanings, and inflections that must be cast perfectly.

Howl hones his focus, narrowing his entire world down just to the words of magic and the burning feeling in his veins that means the spell is taking hold. He fixes his eyes on Raistlin’s, and speaks. 

When Howl looks at Raistlin like that, for the barest fraction of a second, Raistlin loses his focus. It's such a brief thing that there's no way Howl noticed, but internally, Raistlin can feel his grip on the magic almost slip. He casts his eyes down to the circle around them, using it as an anchor to bring him back to the spell.

Howl almost panics when Raistlin looks away- almost. He stares at the other wizard’s head as it bends, holding onto the magic for dear life.

When they get to the last strain of the spell, Raistlin looks back up, meets Howl’s eyes, and holds tight to the magic. He's been doing this is whole life, and he's the  _ best _ at it; there's no way  _ Howl Pendragon _ will mess him up now. They say the last lines in unison, and the magic snaps free like a rope pulled too tight.

Impossibly,  _ amazingly,  _ a door appears between them.

Howl’s face almost breaks in half from how big his smile is, and, holding the spell, he steps forward. “Shall we?” he asks Raistlin. 

The drain on Raistlin’s energy is  _ immense _ , almost  _ unbearable, _ but he makes himself nod and step forward, not trusting himself to speak.

Howl takes his hand and pulls him through the portal. 

 

—-

 

They land, stumbling, on wood floor, and then a lot of things happen all at once. 

A fire in the grate blazes up, a crackling voice hissing and popping and sending shooting blue sparks across the room. A young boy’s voice calls “Master Howl! Howl! Howl, you’re back!” and footsteps pound across the floor. Howl drops Raistlin’s hand, and the wizard bounds forward, catching the boy around the waist and spinning him up into the air.

“Michael!” Howl bawls. “You  _ saved my life _ , you have no idea.” 

“I told him,” the fire crackles. “Howl, what  _ happened _ ?” 

“Even the best of us can be taken off guard,” he says, then turns back to Raistlin, setting the boy on the ground, where he struggles to regain his footing for a moment. “Raistlin,” he says. “We did it!” 

Raistlin is too preoccupied with a coughing fit to answer.

Howl steps over towards him, watching him pull out the cloth he uses to hide the blood, and says: “Calcifer.” 

Putting a hand on Raistlin’s back, he leads the coughing wizard to a seat in front of the fire, then makes eye contact with the demon in the hearth. Something passes between them then, and Raistlin’s coughing eases. 

Raistlin collapses into the chair and waves howl off, murmuring about just needing rest. The sudden relief of the constant burn inside of him is strange, but he's too exhausted to question it.

It may have been years since he's lived on the road, expecting threats around every turn, but still, the first thing he does once he’s seated is subtly scan the room for threats. He doesn't pay the boy much attention, his eyes settling instead on the strange face in the fire.

“A wizard,” the fire says, its voice all spit and whine. “Howl, was this why you were so late?” There is an implication in its voice. 

Howl lets it roll off his shoulders. “He’s the reason I made it back at all,” he says. “Calcifer, Raistlin. Be good now.”

“You must be the fire demon,” Raistlin guesses, voice weak. If he had more strength, he'd have sneered at the demon’s implications.

Calcifer flickers at him. “You would be correct,” he says. The colored flames that pass for eyes in his face are wide and blue. 

Raistlin frowns down at Calcifer. He's much smaller than Raistlin thought a fire demon would be. “Interesting.”

“You don’t come from here,” Calcifer says. “But you feel like Howl.” He grows, flames climbing across the hearth towards Raistlin. 

“You are correct on the first matter,” Raistlin concedes, keeping a wary eye on the flames, “But I am not like Howl.”

“Um,” says Michael, butting in. “Are you a friend of Howl’s?”

Raistlin finally turns his strange eyes on Howl’s apprentice, frowning when he sees no decay in the boy’s face. He's so busy puzzling over it that he forgets the question.

Michael blinks, then leans over and whispers to Calcifer. “Is he… okay?” 

“Is any wizard?” Calcifer crackles. 

Howl bounds back into the room, carrying a pile of books which he dumps onto the already overloaded, dirty table. “Michael, Calcifer, do give our guest some space. Is there any money left from the last spell I did for the king? I can’t seem to find it.” 

Calcifer and Michael share a look. “Not a penny,” Calcifer replies, while Michael shakes his head. 

Raistlin observes the exchange quietly, feeling completely off-balance in this new world. Everything here looks different, but it  _ feels _ different, too. The air, the demon, even the boy. They  _ feel _ ...strange. He needs to be alone; he needs to regroup. He's not sure he has the strength.

“Howl,” Calcifer says warningly. A wind has picked up in the small room, stirring the demon’s ashes around and blowing sparks into the air. The human skull Howl bought rattles on the tables and books shake on their shelves. 

“ _ Howl,” _ Michael says, looking around with scared eyes. 

Howl turns just in time to see Raistlin at the center of this whirlwind. He raises his arms and lowers them slowly, then frowns when this doesn’t do anything. “Raistlin,” he says. “Raist! Get ahold of yourself, man!” 

Raistlin, who'd been looking around for the source of the sudden storm warily, frowns at Howl. “ _ Me _ ?” he hisses. He tries to “get a hold of himself,” and when he does, the wind slowly dies down.

Howl strides forward and puts a hand on his shoulder, then feels his forehead with the back of his hand. “You’re burning up,” he says. “Tell me what you need.” 

Calcifer flickers. “ _ What,” _ he says. 

Michael looks between the two wizards and the demon, then makes himself scarce. 

“My tea,” Raistlin says, voice barely a whisper, “If you have the ingredients.”

Howl turns. “Calcifer, bend down your head,” he says, grabbing the kettle and dropping it on top of the fire demon. He starts going through their packs, finding the ingredients for Raistlin’s tea and throwing them together. He’s watched Raistlin do it enough times to have the process down. After a few minutes, he presses a mug into Raistlin’s hand and waits. 

Raistlin doesn't thank Howl with anything more than a grateful look, and sinks back into the chair.

“The change in the magic must be affecting you,” Howl says, “much like it did me, but in reverse.” He puts a hand on Raistlin’s shoulder again and tries something else with Calcifer. “Does that feel any better?” he asks. 

“Howl,” says Calcifer, whining, “who  _ is _ this? Where were you? I almost went  _ out _ !” 

Howl doesn’t answer. 

“Michael,” he says, “get the spare mattress and make up a bed for our guest, would you?”

Scared, Michael nods, and rushes to do just that. 

“I do feel better. And I will feel even more so with rest,” Raistlin says, his eyes glowing with a fervor that has nothing to do with the fire or the tea or whatever Howl did. 

That  _ magic. _ The  _ feel of it _ . Raistlin is going to like it here.

“Good,” says Howl. “Then rest.” 


	6. DAY SIX

Raistlin wakes up in the same chair he'd fallen asleep in the night before, next to the crackling fire. Now that the room is better lit by the light of day, he looks around. There are so many curiosities about the room he'd like to explore further, but his eyes are drawn to the messy work station. It's familiar, yet different from what he knows-- similar dusty tomes, yellowed paper, human skulls, but the strangely-colored vials, jars of powder, and other concoctions are new.

He stands, having to pause when doing so makes him slightly dizzy, and begins sorting through the papers on the table with interest.

The fire flickers. “You know,” Calcifer says in his crackling voice, “I’ve never seen Howl bring a  _ friend _ here before.” 

“I believe he mentioned not having any,” Raistlin says, glancing over at the fire.

“He doesn’t,” Calcifer sighs. “It isn’t surprising, when you get to know him. Where did you come from?” 

“Another dimension. Krynn. Howl got stranded there several days ago; it is I who helped him find his way back, in return for being allowed to come here as well.”

“Interesting,” Calcifer hisses, and dies down again, only his eyes visible over the log. 

“What are you doing?” another voice says. Michael stands behind Raistlin, looking at him with big, worried eyes. He can’t be more than thirteen or so. 

Raistlin regards the boy with interest. He never knows how to talk to children; even as a child himself, he could never get it right. They never  _ trusted  _ him. “Exploring,” he says.

“Are you a wizard like Howl?” Michael asks. 

“Yes,” Raistlin says, deciding to go with the simplest answer. Then he smirks. “Only, I'm  _ better _ than Howl.”

Michael narrows his eyes, looking suspicious. “I dunno about that,” he says, loyal. “Why are you gold?”

“Why are  _ you _ pink?” Raistlin hisses, turning back to rifling through the papers.

“Are you human?” Michael continues, glancing at Calcifer. 

“Yes,” Raistlin says.

“That’s my spells,” Michael cries, changing the subject. He snatches a paper out of Raistlin’s hand. “I’m  _ learning  _ that one.”

Raistlin lets him snatch it, slightly taken aback. He moves to study the various concoctions in jars instead. “How long have you been Howl’s apprentice?” he asks.

“Well,” Michael starts. “I guess about a few months. I’ve lived here about a year, but Howl didn’t even seem to  _ notice _ , so I started helping him out, and I did that for a while before he made it official.” He sorts through the papers, putting them in a particular order. 

Raistlin hums, holds a jar up to the light and examines its contents. “My greatest enemies sent my apprentice to me for the purpose of spying on my every movement. They chose him after he killed an evil wizard and passed the hardest test in my world, one few survive,” he says. “I keep him around because he’s useful on occasion, traitorous wretch as he may be, and because he has since proven himself willing to die for me.”

Michael’s mouth drops open. Calcifer cackles, shooting sparks out of the grate. 

“Well,” Michael sputters. “I’m going to get breakfast.”

“Would you like help?” Raistlin asks.

“No, unless you want to go get Howl,” Michael says, biting his lip. “He’s the only one who can cook on Calcifer.”

Raistlin casts the fire demon a curious look. “Start another fire, then.”

“Where?” says Michael. 

“I will  _ not _ have competition,” hisses Calcifer. 

“Then let someone else cook on you,” Raistlin says to Calficer.

“No,” Calcifer hisses, flaring up in the grate.

Michael looks between him and Raistlin, then turns to the stairs. “I’ll go get Howl,” he says.

“Then  _ perhaps _ ,” Raistlin hisses at Calcifer, “The hearth should be reserved for more  _ useful _ fires.” So far, Calcifer is reminding Raistlin strongly of Flint, and Raistlin found that threats were always the best way to get Flint over his stubbornness.

“Don’t threaten  _ me _ ,” Calcifer responds, blazing more brightly. “I am more powerful than you could even imagine, child, and you do  _ not _ want to get on my bad side!” 

Raistlin smirks. “And yet you nearly perish from a few days of neglect.”

“I may be weaker in my current form,” Calcifer bristles. “But-“

“What’s going on?” Howl asks, appearing at the table behind Raistlin. He’s wrapped up in a patchwork quilt gray with dust, blinking sleep out of his eyes. Michael stands behind him. 

“I’m just getting to know your housemates,” Raistlin answers innocently, turning to Howl.

“ _ Howl _ , he’s  _ threatening _ me,” Calcifer whines. 

“Good,” says Howl. “You could use more of that, you old bag of gas.” He yawns. “Michael, pass me the kettle.” Michael does so, and he stumbles over to the hearth, dragging the blanket behind him. 

Raistlin stays out of the way, interested in watching the morning ritual without participating.

“Raistlin, a frying pan, if you would,” Howl says, holding out a hand. 

Raistlin looks around, wrinkling his nose at the mess of the place, and hands Howl a frying pan.

Howl doesn’t thank him, just directs Michael to gather various food elements and starts cooking them. He pours hot water for Raistlin and the others, then absentmindedly clears a spot at the table to set the food down on.

While he works, Raistlin’s eyes trail to the door. After breakfast, perhaps, he’ll leave. Or after he gets more information about the magic here from Howl. He just wishes he could speak to Howl without the other two around. 

Howl shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth, then looks at Raistlin. “Oh, no,” he says. “You can’t wear that.” 

Raistlin scowls at him. “Well, what do wizards wear here? I'm not wearing that nonsense you call clothing.”

“Hmph,” Howl sniffs. “Not robes, at least.”

“These are  _ practical _ ,” Raistlin says, primly. “I’m not getting rid of them.”

“They’re not practical here!” Howl proclaims. “You need  _ pants _ , for one thing.” 

Calcifer snickers. “ _ I  _ get along just fine without them,” he cackles. 

“You don’t have legs,” Michael says. 

“I  _ have _ pants,” Raistlin says, trying to seem dignified and  _ not _ embarrassed. “They're just  _ under _ my robes.”

“Of course,” Howl sniffs, then cracks a smile at Raistlin. “Here, have food.” 

“Thank you,” Raistlin says primly, still embarrassed.

Michael starts coughing into his bacon and eggs. Howl gives him a stern look, then scrapes what remains on his plate into Calcifer’s mouth. “Raistlin,” he says, “would you like to come with me to find clothes for you?” 

“Now?” Raistlin asks, pushing his barely-eaten plate toward Michael as an unspoken peace offering. 

Michael takes it carefully and starts in on the bacon. 

Not noticing, Howl passes Calcifer another log. “Soon,” he says. “When I’m dressed. You don’t want to be running around like that for long,” he says. “People will talk.” 

“Have you seen my eyes and skin?” Raistlin sneers. “They'll talk anyway.”

“I could give you an illusion if you want,” Howl says. 

“I don't,” Raistlin says, voice sharp.

Howl shrugs. “I figured as much. Hot water, Calcifer, I’m going to shower.” 

Calcifer groans, muttering something about hot spots under the marshes. Michael is left with Raistlin at the table. 

Raistlin watches Howl leave, then his eyes flick over to Michael. Great. Alone with these two again.

Michael eyes Raistlin warily, then starts shuffling through his papers again, settling down by the fire to read a rudimentary magic textbook. Half an hour passes in relative silence: Michael reading, Calcifer humming a song in a foreign language quietly to himself. 

Then Michael looks up at Raistlin. “Mr Raistlin, sir?”

Raistlin, who’d been eyeing Michael’s book covetously, raises an eyebrow at the title, but doesn't bother correcting it. “Yes?”

“You’re a wizard, right?”

“Yes,” Raistlin says uncertainly. He’s not sure he has the right to call himself that here, which he  _ hates _ .

“Can- can you help me with this?” Michael asks hesitantly. “I’d ask Howl but, you know, he’s busy.” 

Knowing he’s risking being exposed as a fraud, Raistlin holds a hand out for the book. “What is it, exactly, you need help with?”

Michael reaches a hand over and points vaguely at a list entitled  _ Seven Basic Principles _ . “I don’t understand number four- does it mean different ways to  _ read  _ spells or different  _ intentions _ ?” He sighs. “I didn’t really understand when Howl explained either.” 

Raistlin reads through the other principles, committing them to memory. If  _ this _ is how magic here works, it is indeed very different from Krynn. But Raistlin can see underlying similarities. “Intentions,” he answers easily. “As an example of this principle, consider what happened when I got upset last night,” he explains, teaching  _ himself _ as much as he is teaching Michael. “That was fueled by emotion and intention, not the mechanics of  _ reading _ spells.”

“Oh,” Michael says. “You explained that much better than  _ Howl _ .”

“I told you it was intention,” Calcifer crackles. 

“No, you didn’t!” Michael complains. “ _ You _ said different spells do different things, which isn’t what I asked at  _ all _ !” 

“Well, I’m not a wizard,” Calcifer replies. 

Raistlin sits back in his chair, pleased with himself. “If Howl teaches as haphazardly as he learns, it's no wonder you were having trouble.”

“He’s usually a good teacher! I always understand what he says,” Michael frowns. “Unless he’s distracted.” 

“The last girl gave him quite a hard time,” Calcifer supplies, weary. 

“Get distracted by girls often, does he?”

“You have  _ no _ idea,” Calcifer and Michael groan.

“He got... _ distracted _ by my sister his very first night in my world,” Raistlin says. 

Calcifer flares. “While I was  _ dying?” _

“Oh, yes. He got drunk, convinced me to drink  _ with _ him, bedded my sister-- or rather,  _ she  _ bedded  _ him _ \--, and nearly died the following morning, yes,” Raistlin says. He's enjoying this. Maybe it's the fact that he's still annoyed about the whole Kitiara situation, but he intends to cause trouble for Howl.

Michael’s eyes are wide. 

Calcifer flickers angrily. “She bedded him? That’s a turned table. Serves him right, the pretentious  _ fool _ .” 

“He was terrified of her,” Raistlin supplies smugly.

Calcifer cackles. “The tables turn even on the  _ great  _ wizard Howl,” he spits. “And to think I thought  _ you _ were one of his conquests. Not,” he continues, “that he ever brings them to the castle.” 

“He never brings anyone to the castle,” Michael says, out of his depth. 

“I most certainly am  _ not _ a  _ conquest, _ ” Raistlin snarls at Calcifer. “Only fools would be charmed by  _ him _ . But if you're uncomfortable with my presence, rest easy. I'll be leaving as soon as I possibly can.”

“You don’t have to,” Michael says, as Calcifer snickers. “You don’t make us uncomfortable!” the boy insists. 

Raistlin studies Michael, the gold of his eyes glinting in Calcifer’s light. “It is my preference.”

The door to the bathroom opens and clouds of lavender scented steam billow into the room. “Michael looks horrified,” he says. “Calcifer looks like he approves. Raistlin, my friend, what did you do to them?” 

“Ah, it was all my  _ natural charm _ ,” Raistlin says, laying the sarcasm on thick. He thought Howl’s perfumes were strong  _ before _ ; that was nothing to Howl with all his usual resources on hand. 

“He helped me with the assignment you gave me,” Michael supplies quickly.

Howl raises an eyebrow. “How kind of him,” he says. “Well, Raistlin, now that you’ve bought my apprentice’s loyalty forever, I need to give you something to wear so that we can buy you something to wear.” He heads for the stairs. “Coming?” 

Raistlin sighs. Knowing what he does about Howl, Howl’s not going to give this up. Besides, it may actually going to be a good idea to stand out as little as possible, at first. At least until he has his bearings and has done some observing. “Yes,” he says, pushing himself out of his chair and following Howl upstairs.

Howl holds open the door of one of the rooms for Raistlin, then dashes to the closet. He ruffles through clothing, pulling out strange shiny jackets, shirts of various colors, and one gray and scarlet suit. He shakes his head and tosses each of them aside, finally pulling out a pair of inoffensive grey pants and a shirt to go with them. “It’s not much,” he says, “but it should do for us to go shopping in, don’t you think?”

“ _ Too _ much,” Raistlin grumbles, accepting the clothing. He glances at the closet with trepidation; it’s filled with more colors than he’s seen in clothing in his  _ life. _ It could be worse. He turns to head back downstairs.

“Do you need hot water?”

Raistlin blinks at Howl. “I can make do with cold,” he says.

Howl looks aghast. “What? You don’t have to.” 

“I’m used to it, I assure you,” Raistlin says. “It’s stimulating.”

Howl goes a little pink. “If you insist,” he says. “Hot may be better for your health, though.” 

“But cold better for my mind,” Raistlin says, then turns on his heel and heads to the bathroom.

Howl grimaces and shuts the bedroom door behind him. Raistlin’s already in the bathroom by the time Howl descends the stairs, so he busies himself puttering around the kitchen. After about three minutes he runs out of things he actually feels like doing, so he wanders over to stand behind Michael, reading over his shoulder.

“Raistlin helped me with the principles,” Michael mentions. 

“Oh?” says Howl. 

“Yeah. He explained it better than you did,” he continues. 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Howl says. “Do you like him, then?”

Michael narrows his eyes. “Yes, I suppose. Why are you asking my opinion?” 

Howl ignores him and turns to Calcifer. 

“He’s like you,” Calcifer says. “I’d watch him.” 

Howl raises an eyebrow, then looks back to Michael. “Show me where you are now,” he says. 

Only a few minutes later, Raistlin returns, now dressed in Howl’s clothes. The grey is  _ not  _ his color, doesn’t go well with his skin, and he looks...slightly ridiculous. Howl is shorter than him, but he’s much skinnier than Howl, which results in a suit that’s slightly too large but also too short at the same time. His hair is damp, his expression put-upon, and his arms folded across his chest. Whatever good mood he’d picked up while talking to Calcifer and Michael earlier is gone.

Howl looks him up and down, his expression vaguely reminiscent of Kitiara’s a few days before. He raises an eyebrow and then strides to the door, turning the knob red down. “After you,” he says, following Raistin out into the streets of Kingsbury. 

Raistlin’s first real look at Ingary is overwhelming. He stops outside Howl’s home, eyes wide, trying to take it all in. The houses are smaller than some of those in Palanthas, but more elegant, sturdy,  _ lavish _ . There are many people out and about, most wearing outfits even more ridiculous than Howl’s. There are carriages, there are shops, there are a number of familiar things, but what surprises Raistlin most are the things that are  _ lacking. _

There’s no filth. There’s no distrust in strangers’ stares. There are no warriors with swords and armor. There are no elves, dwarves, kender. “They’re all human,” is the first thing Raistlin observes.

“Of course,” Howl says, with a strange look. 

Raistlin gives Howl a strange look back. It takes him a moment to piece it all together. “There are no kender,” he says, as both a question and a sigh of relief.

“... No,” Howl says, clearly confused and trying to pretend he’s not. “None of those. Just nosy, nosy, rich people.”

Raistlin sneers at the passersby.  _ Worse _ than kender, then. “Wonderful,” he says, distantly wondering how Howl would feel about kender. What happens when an unstoppable Force meets another unstoppable Force?

“Ignore them and they will assume you have more money than they do,” Howl says, guiding Raistlin along the cobblestone street. 

Raistlin has no problem doing as Howl suggests; he continues on with his nose high in the air and face settled into a disdainful sneer. Howl leads him down several elaborately decorated streets, his sleeves trailing in the wind of his passage. It’s chilly, just cold enough for the wind to cut through clothing. Howl stops suddenly and turns into a tailor’s shop with the latest fashions displayed in the windows. 

Raistlin cringes at the outfits on display before following Howl inside. Inside are a few racks of clothing, the back of the shop full of mirrors and small rooms to dress in. Near the door, standing by one of the racks, is an older woman. When she sees Raistlin, she does a double-take, then starts whispering something to her companion. They both start edging their way out of the store;Raistlin ignores it. He has a feeling he's going to stick out more here than he did in Abanasia.

“Can we just grab something and go?” he hisses at Howl. “I don't like shopping and I'm eager to get started learning the magic here.”

Howl blinks at him. “I suppose you can try it on at home, but that just means we might have to come out again later.” 

Raistlin grits his teeth. “I'd prefer to only do this once,” he says with a put-upon sigh.

“We’ll make it quick,” Howl says, and then he begins. He dashes about between the racks, picking things out, sizing Raistlin up, and either putting them back or passing them to other wizard to hold in a pile, muttering to himself about color and tailoring all the while. Eventually, Raistlin is holding a multicolored stack of clothing, and Howl pushes him into a dressing room.

Raistlin doesn't really know what to do with himself once he's in the dressing room. He sorts through the stack of clothes and separates several pieces he absolutely refuses to try on, due to color, shine, or sheer amount of frill. He turns to the rest and sighs. 

The first of the outfits he tries on, the simplest, doesn't fit right. It's too wide and too long. The second is...exceedingly complex. The pants are stiffer than any Raistlin has ever worn, and the top...well, the top has  _ far _ too many pieces to it. Raistlin ends up getting stuck in them.

After squirming for a solid minute to no avail, more embarrassed than he's probably ever been in his life, he calls for Howl.

Howl unlocks the door with a touch and stumbles inside, looking around for the threat. When he sees Raistlin tangled in the shirt, he goes to great efforts not to laugh, biting his lip as he advances. After a few minutes of scuffling the top is in its intended place and Howl steps back, looking Raistlin over. “Not bad,” he says. “But perhaps we should get you something that you can put on by yourself.”

Raistlin scowls at Howl. “The clothing here is needlessly complicated,” he complains. He begins to try to tug off this top, then looks at Howl helplessly.

Howl grins and starts unlacing it for him. “Perhaps something simpler would be more your style anyway,” he says, “as dashing as you look in this suit.” 

Raistlin makes a face at the compliment, but lets Howl help him. “Simple will be best,” he says, eyeing the stack of clothes Howl gave him, “Even if I have a feeling our meanings of the word vary drastically.”

Howl undoes the last of the laces and pulls the shirt down from Raistlin’s thin shoulders, exposing his gold skin. He immediately turns to sort through the pile of clothes, removing anything that would take this amount of effort to put on. “There,” he says. “That should be better.” 

Raistlin takes the significantly smaller pile of clothes without thanks and stares at Howl until he leaves the dressing room. Alone again, Raistlin sorts through the new pile for the most likely candidates. He first puts on a black pair of trousers. Then, he starts reaching for a black tunic, but something stops him. There are no gods of magic here, no nuitari to pledge his loyalty to.

In a rare nostalgic moment, he grabs a red tunic instead, more fitted than the ones in his world. Finally, he adds a black cloak-coat that ends at his waist. It's strange, but the closest thing he can find to what's  _ normal _ for him. There's only one pocket hidden on the inside, which annoys him a little. Where is he supposed to put his spell components?

Satisfied with this outfit, he opens the door.

Howl turns to take a look. He raises his eyebrows, and then raises them higher, his eyes wide. “You clean up nice,” he says. “Who would have known. Are you all set?”

Raistlin makes a face, then looks down at his outfit. “What am I cleaning?”

Howl laughs and doesn’t answer, passing a few coins across the table to the clerk. He takes Raistlin by the sleeve and then they’re back out in the sunlight. 

“I’ll pay you back for the clothes, eventually,” Raistlin says, feeling-- ridiculously and unrealistically-- like he's actually  _ part _ of the crowd, now.

“No need,” Howl says. “Though you might want a second set at some point.” 

“Perhaps,” Raistlin says, looking down at his new clothes. Then, “I don't like being in anyone's debt.”

Howl looks over at him. “It’s a gift, not a loan,” he says. “I’m not going to hold it over you or anything like that.” 

Raistlin grits his teeth and says nothing. He's still going to pay Howl back, when he can. He looks around at the strange sights instead, eyes not missing a thing.

As they near the castle door several people call out to Howl, coming near to chat with him, thanking him for spells and calling him Sir. He smiles and chats graciously, asking after results, old mothers, children. He introduces Raistlin. 

“Is he a wizard too?” asks a particularly nervous courtier, eyeing Raistlin and the strange tint to his skin.

“It’s the new fashion from Strangia,” Howl says, ushering Raistlin away before Raistlin can say anything unnecessarily rude. “He’s foreign,” he calls over his shoulder, then turns to a door in the wall with a sign over it. It looks like it leads to nothing in particular, but when he opens it the interior of the castle is there, Calcifer flickering in the grate. 

Raistlin stops outside the strange doorway-to-castle and studies the entranceway carefully. “Is this more of your dimensional magic?”

“And it’s the same principle, but just plain old space this time.” 

Raistlin nods. He can feel the magic linking the two places. After their excursion, he's getting better about telling where magic  _ is _ and where it  _ isn’t _ in this world. “Where does the magic come from here? Does it have a source?”

Howl considers. “It is the world,” he says, after a minute or so.

Raistlin hums. “But when you use magic, are you tapping into a source, or are you just using magic that is already here-- or everywhere?”

“Magic here is ambient,” Howl says. “It’s not that it lives somewhere in particular, but more that it’s all around you. When you call it up it draws together, but you aren’t draining a particular source. Like raising a wind,” he shrugs. 

“I see,” Raistlin says. “In my world, the three gods of magic--or the moons, if you do not believe in the gods-- are the source. All magic cast comes from them, from  _ their _ power. I like this better. I've never liked having to rely on someone else’s power to achieve my own.”

Howl stares at him. “No wonder I hated your world’s magic so much,” he says. “Is that why it takes so much effort?” 

Raistlin smirks at him. “The gods do not like lending mortals too much power,” he says, smiling in the way that means he's sharing an inside joke with himself. “Perhaps they feel easily threatened.”

Howl snickers. “I know of no gods here,” he says. “Only mortals with power.” 

“ _ Good _ ,” Raistlin says, more emotive than Howl has seen him yet.

Howl raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. He turns to Calcifer and Michael, asking about Michael’s progress, and then stops and rushes to the table. He sorts through several stacks of books and papers before he finds what he’s looking for, then presents it to Raistlin.  _ Advanced Magical Principles _ , the cover says. “I figure you don’t need the basics,” Howl explains. 

“Thank you,” Raistlin says, flipping the book open and engrossing himself in reading before Howl has even finished explaining.

Howl surveys the room, feeling content, and then starts to tinker with a spell on the kitchen table.

 

\---

 

It doesn't take Raistlin long to work through the book Howl gave him, or the next two. He can see, now, how Howl picked up Krynn magic so quickly. Some of the principles are very similar, or at least, similar enough. When he gets tired of reading books, he asks Howl questions. 

“I don’t know if it could be considered the same,” Howl says, in the middle of explaining the difference in required concentration between Krynn and Ingary. “In your world it seemed to be based entirely on a linear projection of how big or complex the spell is. Here, it depends on what kind of spell, what your intention is, whether you’ve gotten used to it, whether it’s self-fulfilling, you see?” He gestures, ticking items off on his long fingers. “Thus a large spell can at times require less focus.”

Raistlin nods. He'd sort of worked that much out on his own, in less concrete and more confusing terms, and just needed Howl’s clarification. “It seems to me,” Raistlin says, moving on to another point he needs clarified, “That magic doesn't drain the user the way it does in my world.Is there any cost? Any expenditure?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Howl says. “Of course an extended strain will tire you out, but once you master the ability to pull magic from your surroundings it’s as easy as breathing. Well, maybe not that easy, but it’s not  _ hard _ .”

Behind Howl, Michael’s jaw drops. 

“Breathing has never come easy for me, but magic has,” Raistlin says, a slow smile spreading across his face, “I look forward to the challenge.”

Howl grins back, then turns to sorting through books, picking out a few more for Raistlin. “Let me know if your chest starts acting up again,” he says conversationally. 

Raistlin puts a hand over his chest and says nothing. It  _ has  _ been better since whatever Howl or Calcifer-- or Howl  _ and  _ Calcifer-- did, but Raistlin would prefer not to rely on them, especially since he plans on leaving soon...as soon as he works his way through Howl’s books. “What did you do?”

“I tried to clear up your lungs,” he says. “I’m no doctor, but it felt like the tissue was all torn. I’m not sure if I fixed that entirely.”

“Thank you,” Raistlin says, surprised.

Howl smiles. “Anytime,” he says. He would have done it for no thanks- he hasn’t expected Raistlin to notice. 

Raistlin believes it, which worries him. Even worse, he feels  _ touched _ by Howl’s thoughtfulness, not offended or indebted or distrustful. He sinks back into his chair to think. He has to leave this castle.

An hour or so later, Howl dashes back into Raistlin’s line of view. “Want to try a spell?” he asks. 

“I suppose,” Raistlin says, though he doesn't, really. Not in front of Howl.

“Here,” Howl says. “You can use the yard in the back. Yell if you need any help.” 

Raistlin glances at Michael, curious as to whether Howl approaches  _ all _ his teaching this way or if he just trusts Raistlin enough to manage on his own. He grabs one of the books he'd been reading and heads out into the yard, unsurprised to find it as much of a mess as the house.

The spell he selects is one he'd been eyeing earlier-- simple, compared to some of the others he’d read about, but useful. He chose it, perhaps, in a fit of sentimentality-- it was, after all, one of the first  _ useful _ spells he learned in his own world. Fireball. 

It's almost  _ too _ easy, without the strict incantation, without the necessary spell components or concentration. The fire comes to life in Raistlin’s hand, contained, but alive and warm. He draws energy from the world around him, like Howl instructed, and the fire gets a little bit bigger. While he's staring into the white and blue light at its center, he’s reminded of something he'd been meaning to investigate once he was alone.

The fire dies as Raistlin releases the magic. Instead, he reaches into the pocket of his new cloak and retrieves a small velvet bag, one he’d been careful not to let Howl see. He pulls out something that looks like a small marble. For a brief moment, Raistlin worries that that's what it  _ is _ , what it's become in this world, but then it grows until it's a small orb that fits neatly in his hand. The colors inside of it are dimmer than they are in Krynn, but they're there all the same. It still works.

Relief floods through Raistlin, surprising him. He's not completely cut off from home, from everything he's ever known.

“Show me the tower,” Raistlin commands in Krynn's slithering language of magic. Somehow, it works, and an image appears in the mist. It shows Raistlin Dalamar, standing in Raistlin’s study, looking vaguely distressed. Raistlin cringes. Perhaps he should have left a note.

“Who’s that?” says a voice. It’s Michael, peering over Raistlin’s shoulder. 

Raistlin almost drops the dragon orb, then holds it to him and turns to glare at Michael. “It is none of your business.”

Michael steps back, eyes wide. “Is that your home?”

Raistlin hesitates. “Yes.”

“Is he your friend, then?” Michael continues, trying to catch a glimpse of the orb again. “I’ve never seen another world before.” 

Something about this boy reminds Raistlin of Caramon, which means he isn't going to stop questioning Raistlin until Raistlin either answers or scares him away. He doesn't want to do the latter, if he can avoid it, because he doesn't want to make an enemy out of Howl, so he holds the Dragon Orb out so the boy can see. “That's my apprentice, Dalamar.”

“He’s old,” Michael says. “Is he coming here too?”

“No,” Raistlin says curtly, “He is not.”

“Oh,” says Michael. “Well, I guess you can get another apprentice,” he continues, doubtfully. “If you want one.” 

“If they're all as inquisitive as  _ you _ , I will not,” Raistlin says.

“Howl says curiosity is what makes a good wizard,” Michael replies. 

Raistlin blinks at Michael, and remembers how he was at Michael’s age. “Howl is right.”

“What spell did he give you?” Michael asks, excited. 

“He didn't,” Raistlin says, “I chose one from his books.”

Michael’s mouth makes a small  _ o _ . “He never lets me pick! What did you do? Can I see?”

Raistlin sighs and conjures the same fire as before, only making it brighter, larger, and  _ purple _ so Michael doesn't get too friendly.

Michael loves it. He grins, then begs to be taught how. “Please,” he says. “Please please  _ please! _ Howl never lets me do cool stuff like that!” 

“ _ Howl _ is your teacher, not me,” Raistlin says. “Go ask  _ him _ .”

“Ask me what?” Howl says, appearing in the doorway. 

“Teach him... _ cooler _ spells so he leaves  _ me _ alone,” Raistlin says, slipping the dragon orb back into its bag so it returns to the size of a marble.

Howl blinks. “Michael,” he says. “All magic is cool.” He turns away, wondering why Raistlin using the word  _ cool  _ is making his chest feel funny, right around where his heart used to be. 

“True,” Raistlin says, pretending he knows what the word means in this context.

Howl squints at him. “Cool,” he says, “means… interesting. More or less.”

Raistlin makes a face. “ _ Why? _ ”

“Why what?” Howl asks. Michael peers at the titles of the books Raistlin took off of Howl’s shelf.

“ _ Why _ does 'cool’ mean 'interesting’?” Raistlin asks. “It doesn't make sense.” 

Howl waves a hand, laughing. “It’s slang from Wales,” he says. “I must use it enough that Michael picked up on it.”

“Calcifer told me what it meant,” Michael supplies. “Except he explained it differently.” 

“I don't think I like it,” Raistlin announces.

“Why not?” Howl asks. 

“As I said, it doesn't make sense. I find slang... _ not cool _ .” Raistlin smirks and pushes past Howl back into the house.

Howl blinks, then follows him, snickering. Michael traipses after, taking the opportunity to grill Howl on beginner spell components. Howl answers most of the questions but leaves Michael to figure some of them out on his own. “It’s important to leave the mystery,” he explains. “If I told you  _ everything  _ what would be left for you to learn?”

“When my teachers used that line, it meant they were either too lazy or too stupid to answer,” Raistlin says with a sly look at Howl.

“It’s not a question worth my time,” Howl says loftily. Michael turns to Raistlin, expecting an answer. 

“Don’t look at  _ me, _ ” Raistlin hisses.

Michael backs off. 

“Don’t scare my apprentice,” Howl says.

“Well, then, keep him away from me,” Raistlin says. He realizes, distantly, that he's doing what he's always done, what he does best: hardening and lashing out as soon as he begins to  _ enjoy himself.  _ He doesn't really care. It's for the best, probably, especially if he ever really intends to leave.

Howl frowns at Raistlin, looking vaguely concerned. Michael looks between them. “I’m not scared of you,” he says. 

“Maybe you should be, boy,” Raistlin mutters. He stands taller, then, and turns to Howl. “I’ll be leaving, now.”

“Hm?” Howl says. “Where are you going?”

“I don't know,” Raistlin admits. “Where would you recommend I go to further my study of magic in this world?”

Howl tips his head to the side. “I would introduce you to Mrs. Pentstemmon if she was still teaching. But she’s not, so, well. Your best bet is here,” he says a touch awkwardly. 

Raistlin grits his teeth at that. He doesn’t mind Howl’s company, nor the prospect of studying magic with him. Which is why he’d rather be anywhere but here. “I won't be your apprentice,” he says. “I’d rather teach myself, if I have to.”

Howl looks hurt. “You’re not my apprentice, either way.” He turns his back. “Do what you want.”

Raistlin hesitates, something like  _ guilt  _ clawing at his chest. He thought he'd learned to ignore the feeling. “I spent most of my life requiring assistance from those around me. I finally grew strong enough to overcome that, in my world, and I won't go back to relying on others, now,” he says, by way of explanation.

Howl gives him an inscrutable look, and Michael runs past him into the castle. 

“I don’t consider you a charity case, you know,” Howl says after a minute or so. “Consider it repaying a favor, if you must.”

“I don’t understand why you seem to  _ want _ me to stay with you,” Raistlin says.

“Well, I don’t want you wreaking havoc on anyone else,” Howl says. He’s not ready to admit that he  _ does  _ want Raistlin to stay, because he likes him, because they have a lot in common, and because it’s been a long, long time since Howl could talk to someone like he talks to Raistlin. 

Raistlin gives him a twisted smile. “Then you should not have let me into Ingary.”

Howl laughs. “I’m not serious, Raistlin, I just- look, do you really want to leave? Only Michael seems to like you a lot, and I don’t have the time or energy to put up with his complaining if his new friend disappears, and…” he trails off, and finally meets Raistlin’s eyes. “You’re not buying that at all, are you.” 

Raistlin tilts his head to one side, strange hourglass-shaped pupils fixed on Howl’s face. “I am not.”

“I enjoy talking to you,” Howl says. He still can’t say it straight, but he’s trying. 

Raistlin narrows his eyes, looking for the catch. He says nothing.

“How am I going to continue having actually interesting discussions of magic,” Howl says, attempting to pull himself together, “if you are not here?”

“Conversations with the ten year old aren't scintillating enough for you?” Raistlin asks, the driest of smirks on his face.

“While the fact that Michael hangs on my every word is endearing, I wouldn’t exactly call it invigorating dialogue.”

“You want me to stay solely for my  _ pleasant _ conversation,” Raistlin says. It's partially a question, mostly an expression of disbelief.

Howl grins, feeling like he’s regaining the upper hand in this conversation. “That and your good looks,” he says, and Raistlin doesn’t need to know that he isn’t joking. 

Raistlin scowls at him. “I’m going to leave you to your unsatisfying conversations if you keep making fun of me.”

“I,” Howl says, “am not making fun of you.”

“Whatever you call your mock-flirtation, then,” Raistlin says. “Keep it up, and I leave.”

Howl can’t help but feel slightly hurt at that, so he plays up the drama. “Raistlin,” he sighs, “you could have just said you weren’t interested. Not to worry, my friend, I will do my best to tone down my natural charm.” 

Raistlin gives him a flat look. “I'm not interested.”

Howl clutches at where his heart should be, doing his best to look sad and noble. But he drops the subject as well as the flirtation and dashes back into the house, calling for Michael.

Raistlin reluctantly follows him inside. Apparently, he's staying.

 

—-

 

Over the next few days, they settle into a rhythm. Howl teaches Michael and helps Raistlin, passing him book after book, spell after spell. Magic flows at an almost constant rate through and around their household. It doesn’t take Raistlin any time at all to pick up on the principles of Ingary’s magic, and soon Howl is dashing about looking for his more obscure, high level books, those he consults only in an emergency. He takes Raistlin to the marshes, to the Wastes around the castle, to the borders of the Witch’s domain. He refuses to go any further. He won’t tell Raistlin why. 

On the eleventh day, the routine breaks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. i'm not sure how diana wynne jones thought of the magic systems in her worlds, but that's how it always came off to me.   
> 2\. since this is about two years before the events of the book howl's moving castle take place, michael would be about thirteen.


	7. DAY ELEVEN

The door slams, the knob turned to black-down, and Howl storms in, looking tired and upset. 

“Calcifer,” he calls, “hot water.” 

The fire demon flickers in the hearth and obeys, muttering a quiet “Uh-oh” to Michael, who grimaces. 

Raistlin looks up from the spellbook he'd been pouring over, mildly confused but also just slightly irritated for being disturbed. When he picks up on Howl's mood, he looks that the house’s other two residents questioningly, then at the door.

Michael shrugs. “It’s black-down,” he says, by way of explanation. 

“Where does that lead?” Raistlin asks. Howl has showed him most places, but never what's through the black-down door.

“I don’t know,” Michael says, looking at Calcifer. The demon gives the impression of a shrug. 

They return to their work, Michael to his studies and Calcifer to a song that sounds awfully similar to the one Howl sang the first time they got drunk together. Howl stays in the bathroom. 

After an hour or so, there’s a tug on Raistlin’s sleeve. 

Raistlin looks up again, more annoyed than last time.

Michael is across the room from him, focused on a spell. Behind Raistlin, the door is slightly ajar, knob turned black-down. 

Raistlin frowns and looks down at whatever his sleeve must be caught on.

A tiny, sticky hand is wrapped around his sleeve, attached to a small, sticky girl dressed in bright colors. She looks to be about four years old, and she peers up at him with the trusting, curious eyes of the extremely young. “Uncle Howell?” she asks. 

“He’s in the bathroom,” Raistlin answers automatically, wondering why there are so many children here and why he’s only just meeting this one now.

Without releasing her hold on him, she looks around. “Bathroom?” she repeats with a curious, rolling accent. 

Michael looks up. “Who,” he says, “is that?”

“You don't know?” Raistlin hisses. “She knows Howl.”

Michael frowns. “I’ve never seen her before in my life,” he says, and Calcifer shakes his head to agree. “I’ll get Howl.” He moves to the bathroom door and starts to bang on it, but there’s no response from inside. “Come on! It’s been, like, an hour and a half!” 

“I could turn the water cold on him,” Calcifer proposes. 

The child peers at Calcifer with the same look on her face as she gave Raistlin. 

Raistlin taps the kid on the head. “What’s your name, child?”

“Mari,” she says. “What’s yours?”

“It's very nice to meet you, Mari,” he says, voice more gentle than it's been in all the time he's been in Ingary. “I’m Raistlin."

She struggles with the  _ r _ at the beginning of his name for a moment, then settles for: “Lin?”

Raistlin cringes a bit, then sighs. “Lin works. How old are you, Mari?”

“Four,” she replies. 

“Four,” Raistlin repeats. He'd guessed as much. “Did you say Howl is your uncle? Did you follow him here?”

“Wanted to go back in the house,” she says, mystifyingly. 

The bathroom door slams open. “Calcifer!” Howl says, angry. “Are you  _ out _ of hot w- Mari?” 

“Uncle Howell!” she chirps, but stays where she’s clinging to Raistlin. 

Howl goes a little pale, looking from Mari, to Raistlin, to Calcifer, to the slightly open door. He runs over and shuts it, then turns to his niece. “Mari, what are you doing here, cariad?” 

“I wanted to go back inside,” she says, reaching for him. 

Howl sighs. “I’ll take you back,” he says, “not to worry. Can’t have your mother  _ more _ angry with me, can we?”

Raistlin can hear the similarity in their accents, now, though Howl's is weaker. “The black door leads to your home world,” he guesses.

“Aren’t you observant,” Howl says, mildly. He paces over to Raistlin and hoists Mari up, propping her on his hip. “Let’s take you home, then,” he says, adding something in his own language. 

“Can Lin come with us?” Mari asks. 

Howl blinks, then laughs. “Well, why don’t we ask him. Raistlin, how would you like to see Wales?”

Raistlin holds tighter to his book. “Not particularly.”

“Aw, but Mari wants you to come!” Howl pouts. 

Mari also pouts. They look very similar. 

Raistlin heaves a heavy sigh and pushes himself out of his chair. He’ll never admit to his curiosity.

Both Howl and the girl beam, again showing their uncanny resemblance. “Calcifer,” Howl says, “don’t let anyone in from the black door unless it’s me.”

“I’ve never _ had _ someone come in before,” Calcifer whines. Michael watches them as Howl carries Mari over to the door and turns the knob to black down, opens it, and ushers Raistlin through. 

Raistlin glares over his shoulder at Howl for  _ ushering _ him anywhere, but then is too busy taking in the new world around him to say anything. He's been through all of Howl’s other doors, so he's used to this by now, but this one immediately feels different. It feels... _ tamer _ . There's less potential here. Raistlin already dislikes it. “This world is called Wales?” he asks. 

“No,” Howl says. “I suppose you would call it Earth? The country is Wales.” He makes eye contact with Raistlin, and then blinks, and suddenly Raistlin’s pants are much tighter and his tunic much shorter. His cape has become a baggy jacket made out of some sort of shiny material. Howl is dressed much the same. 

“I had to put an illusion on your skin,” he says apologetically. “Feel free to take it off and do it yourself, if you’d like. Megan is- you’ll see.” 

Mari watches all of this with wide eyes. 

Raistlin studies his hands, now pale. He wonders if this illusion is the curse removed, or if Howl just chose a skin tone at random. If Raistlin looked in the mirror now, would he see his own eyes, icy blue, or something of Howl’s choosing? He leaves the illusion in place; if it will make Howl’s family visit easier, then so be it. 

“Megan is your sister?” Raistlin asks, following Howl.

“Yes,” Howl says. “And she’s angry with me. Mari, protect me, will you?” 

Mari pats him on the cheek.

Howl gets to the end of the walk and turns around, heading back towards the door they came from. It’s made of a wavy glass, and he calls out as he opens it. “Megan? I found your little escapee!” 

Footsteps pound and a woman who looks a lot like Howl and even more like Mari appears, looking frantic and worried. “Mari!” she gasps. “Mari, I was worried  _ sick _ !” 

Howl hands the girl off and steps back. “She followed me down the street,” he says. 

Raistlin watches the interaction silently, eager to learn more, if he can, about Howl and his world.

Megan starts speaking softly to Mari in their language, and Howl frowns. 

“Howell,” she says, “I meant what I said earlier. Do not come here and  _ influence _ my children with your horrible attitude and, and  _ laziness _ , and expect me to be happy to see you! Thank you for returning Mari, but I need you to leave.” 

“Not even a hello? I see how it is,” Howl sighs. “Mari, be good now,” he says, then eyes Megan. “Tell Neil hello for me.” 

Megan only glares at him, clutching her daughter closer to her. 

Howl turns back to Mari. “Bye-bye,” he waves. 

“Bye Uncle Howell!” the girl chirps. “Bye Uncle Lin!” 

At that, Megan gets a particularly terrifying look on her face, and Howl doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream. He grabs Raistlin by the sleeve and tows him out of the house, realizing belatedly that that probably only affirmed Megan’s suspicions. Oh, well. 

“Worse than Kitiara, then,” Raistlin says, once they're free of Megan’s presence. He realizes, distantly, that he's trying to  _ cheer Howl up _ , and it worries him. “I wasn't aware that was possible.”

“The  _ last _ thing I need is her thinking I tried to steal her daughter,” Howl mutters. He’s still holding on to Raistlin’s sleeve. They reach the end of the walk and turn back towards the door, which opens onto the castle interior. 

“It's hardly  _ your fault _ if she allows her four year old to travel to other worlds unsupervised,” Raistlin says stiffly, offended for Howl. He shakes off the illusion Howl put on his appearance with a little regret-- only happy to be out of those awful clothes.

“Well, she doesn’t know about that part,” Howl says, and sighs. The sleeve wrapped around his fingers turns from a windbreaker to the soft silk of a tunic.

“If you tell her, she may not be so hard on you. If she knows how powerful you are,” Raistlin says. “Though I understand keeping secrets from siblings.”

“No,” Howl sighs. “She’ll probably try to have me committed. I shall never see Mari again.”

“Committed to what?” Raistlin asks.

Howl looks at him, and blinks. “To a- I mean, she’ll think I’m insane.”

“ _ I _ think that, too,” Raistlin says.

“Yes, but,  _ you _ know magic is real,” Howl says. 

“I don't see how that makes a difference,” Raistlin huffs.

“She doesn’t- ah, well,” Howl says. “It’s better if she doesn’t know. She already thinks I’m a no-good layabout waste of space, she doesn’t need to know I’m all that and  _ dangerous _ too.”

Raistlin shrugs. “It's your choice.”

“I’d rather she didn’t know.” Howl sighs and rests his forehead on Raistlin’s shoulder briefly. “Oh, and to top it  _ all _ off, she thought we were together. I shall  _ never _ see Mari again.” 

Raistlin frowns. “We  _ were _ together.”

Howl frowns at him. “No, like,  _ together- _ together.” 

“Changing the inflection doesn't clarify your meaning,” Raistlin points out.

Howl sighs. “She thought we were  _ fucking _ ."

Raistlin blinks at Howl. “Ah.”

“Which makes me an even  _ worse  _ influence on Mari, in her eyes,” Howl continues, letting go of Raistlin’s sleeve. 

“You could clarify  _ that _ point, at least,” Raistlin points out, not sure how he feels about strangers thinking he and Howl are sleeping together.

“If I tell her we aren’t, it’ll just convince her that we  _ are _ ,” Howl replies. 

Raistlin raises an eyebrow. “Then don't tell her anything.”

“That’s  _ exactly _ what I was thinking,” Howl says. 

“Ah,” Raistlin says, getting tired of the conversation and tired of strange other-worldly things he doesn't understand, “I didn't know you could do that.”

“I can do a lot of things you wouldn’t know about,” Howl sniffs. “Most of which Megan wouldn’t approve of.” 

Raistlin narrows his eyes. He’s so very tired of  _ not knowing  _ things. “You’d be surprised,” he says, “About the things I know.”

Howl blinks at him, caught off-guard. “I would?” 

Raistlin’s expression turns sly. “Contrary to popular belief, magic  _ isn’t _ the only thing I know.”

Howl feels as though he’s lost his footing. “Do tell,” he says, shifting awkwardly. 

“No, I don’t think I will. Eventually, perhaps,” Raistlin says, enjoying the feel of having the upper hand, “If you ask nicely.”

All of a sudden, Howl understands what’s going on. “I’ll be sure not to,” he smirks. 

Raistlin hums and looks Howl up and down, slowly. For a brief moment, he looks  _ a lot  _ like his older sister, hungry and predatory. Then it passes, and he shrugs. “Do what you like,” he says.

_ God, maybe I should, _ Howl thinks, unbidden. He flushes. No, no, no no no. He’s not going there, no matter how much he wants to. 

“But I’ll hold onto my secrets, then,” Raistlin says, smirking now, as if he can read Howl’s mind. “Your loss.”

“Uhhhhhh,” says Michael. 

Raistlin’s expression clears. He looks away from Howl and doesn't look back. “Howl will explain when you're older,” Raistlin says, patting Michael on the head.

“I don’t think I need an explanation for that,” Michael says, making a face. 

“ _ I _ definitely don’t,” Calcifer crackles. 

Howl unfreezes and brushes past all of them, out to the yard. 

“Why don't you?” Raistlin asks, suddenly curious about the fire demon’s sex education.

“I,” Calcifer says primly, “have a link to Howl. An  _ intimate  _ one.” 

“That's unfortunate,” is all Raistlin says.

“It’s not terrible,” Calcifer admits. “He doesn’t get around as much as you would expect.”

“Really?” Raistlin asks, pulling his chair up next to Calcifer, ready to gossip. “Considering how he parades himself around, I’m surprised.”

Calcifer flickers, cackling. “He always gets bored and moves on before it gets to that point,” he says, happy to talk about Howl behind his back. “Bored, scared, something like that.” 

Raistlin snorts. “ _ That _ doesn't surprise me. But what's the point, then?”

“Of what?”

Raistlin waves a hand vaguely. “ _ Wooing.” _

“The game, the chase,” Calcifer says. “The thrill of it all until it stops. He’s a fool. He doesn’t know what he wants and has even less idea how to get it. He’s fickle and easily bored. I wouldn’t,” he says slyly, “get involved with him, if I were you.” 

Raistlin sneers. “I don't plan on it.”

“It’s for the best,” Calcifer says. “He can’t love anyone properly anyway.” 

“Ah, yes, because you have his heart,” Raistlin says. “It  _ is  _ for the best, probably. But for who: Howl’s prey or the predator himself?”

“Not my business,” Calcifer says. “Figure that one out yourself.” 

“It was  _ rhetorical _ ,” Raistlin snaps. “And what does it matter; we already established that's a bad idea.”

“Did we?” Calcifer says innocently. 

“I’m not,” Raistlin begins, “In the mood for your games, demon.”

Calcifer hisses with laughter, sending sparks into the grate. “But you’re in the mood for Howl’s?”

“ _ Never _ ,” Raistlin says, affronted.

The demon finds this hilarious. “But you were playing along so nicely,” he says. “I really thought you’d gotten one up on him.” 

“I could have. I just got tired of humoring him, in the end,” Raistlin says.

“Wait, so, that was you  _ not _ humoring him? I don’t want to see what humoring him looks like.” 

“Fortunately for you, then, that's something you'll never see,” Raistlin says, going for as dignified an air as possible.

“But I’ll feel it,” Calcifer mutters. 

“ _ You _ \--,” Raistlin hisses, “I will not-- you will not-- shut _ up _ ,” he says, a little phrase he's already managed to pick up from Howl.

Calcifer laughs his spitting laugh again and sinks low in the hearth. “I’m surprised he hasn’t given up and moved on already,” he says with obvious malice. “Given that you, you know, actually show interest in him.”

“How do you know that wasn’t intentional?” Raistlin sneers. “To keep him off my back.”

“Because I only told you what Howl is like just now,” Calcifer says, as if it’s obvious. 

“As if I didn't figure that out for myself long ago,” Raistlin says. “Kitiara is the same way. I saw her seduce, love, and woo wherever she pleased, then drop, abandon, even  _ kill _ the minute she got bored. Howl reminds me too much of her, sometimes.”

“She sounds less foolish than Howl,” Calcifer says. 

Raistlin snorts. “Probably. She's almost as cunning as I. You’d like her. She's fiery.”

“She going to visit?” Calcifer asks, perking up. 

“I hope not,” Raistlin mutters darkly.

“Invite her,” Calcifer laughs. 

“If I ever see your sister again, I  _ will _ run for the hills,” Howl announces, closing the door to the backyard behind him. 

“I’ve just changed my mind. I think I’ll invite Kitiara to visit immediately,” Raistlin announces.

“I knew it!” Howl says, gesturing grandly. “All of this was a ploy! A plot to seize  _ my  _ castle for your own!” He clutches his chest. “You’ve betrayed me for the last time,” he says. 

“No, I’m sure I will do it again,” Raistlin says.

“Ah,” says Howl. “Probably I deserve that.” 

Raistlin shrugs. “It's nothing personal. I betray everyone eventually.”

“Well, I’m not one to judge,” Howl says, and leaves it at that. 

“Probably not,” Raistlin says pleasantly.

“Like peas in a pod,” Howl says, then continues on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back from the dead


	8. DAY TWELVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw in this one folks

The next morning, Raistlin is lounging in what he's come to think of as  _ his _ chair, leg thrown over one of the chair’s arms, a large book in his lap, when Howl comes downstairs for the morning. After several hours of Howl pacing around, sighing dramatically, and glancing Raistlin’s way, Raistlin finally looks up from his book. “ _ What _ do you want?”

“I,” Howl announces, “am  _ bored _ . I’ve been cooped up here for far too long.” He whirls on Raistlin. “Let’s go out.” 

Raistlin looks pointedly down at the book in his lap. “No, thank you.”

“There’s a bookshop in Market Chipping you might like,” Howl says, leaning on the back of Raistlin’s armchair. “Tons of old, rare books. I’ve gotten some of my magical texts from there.” He drums his fingers on the upholstery. 

Raistlin closes his book and narrows his eyes. “I'm aware that you're bribing me; if this bookshop is anything less than you promise, I will be upset.”

“That is a risk I am willing to take,” Howl says, triumphant, and disappears into the bathroom. 

“Yes, because you have no sense,” Raistlin grumbles under his breath, standing and stretching. He's been feeling...healthier since arriving to Ingary. Since whatever Howl and Calcifer did. He almost feels like a whole person. “I suppose it won’t hurt.”

It’s only about an hour later that Howl reappears, smelling of gardenia. He offers Raistlin his arm gallantly. “Shall we?”

Raistlin stares at Howl’s arm like it might bite him, but he takes it. “Might as well.”

Howl beams and whisks them out the castle door, blue-down.

It’s a nice day, for winter. Sunny and not too cold, with a layer of light snow on the ground. The path from the castle down to the town of Market Chipping is mostly clear and straight, so the two wizards have no trouble on their walk. Howl holds Raistlin’s arm the entire way, hopefully passing it off as noble and friendly rather than as clingy. The sun glints off of Raistlin’s golden skin and Howl finds himself occasionally blinded- both literally and metaphorically. 

Raistlin watches Howl through narrowed eyes. “Are you really just restless?” he asks, clearly not believing it.

Howl ignores the question and points out the main street of Market Chipping below them. “That’s where the bookshop is,” he says, “as well as an apothecary and a hat shop. A few good restaurants and taverns as well.”

Raistlin drops Howl's arm and heads straight for the bookshop, leaning only slightly on the staff of Magius as he walks.

Howl catches up to him, unphased. He looks extremely pleased with himself. “They get new books in pretty frequently,” he says. “I like this shop better than all the shops in Kingsbury  _ combined _ .” 

Raistlin tries not to let it show, but he's excited. He's worked through most of Howl's books by now, some of them only at a cursory level-- only enough for him to realize he doesn't care about the subject. It'll be nice to pick something out for himself. “And they have books of magic?”

“Yes,” Howl replies, “though in a restricted section. They know me, though.” 

They’re starting to pass other people on the street here and there. The folk of Market Chipping are down to earth, small-town types, neither as educated nor as stuck up as those in Kingsbury. Howl likes them.

Raistlin, on the other hand, is trying just to avoid them. He can't entirely, however, and ends up bumping into a young woman about Howl’s age. Once she's recovered, she opens her mouth to say something, but no words come out when she sees Raistlin. Raistlin's prepared for disgust or aversion, not a bright smile. “Sorry about that,” she says.

“I believe  _ I’m _ the one who ran into  _ you _ ,” Raistlin says dryly.

“Well, you could always make it up to me. I’m headed to a cute bakery just a couple blocks away, if you'd like to escort me.”

Raistlin blinks at her, not really sure what's going on. “No, thank you. I have somewhere to be.”

Howl elbows Raistlin, gently, and raises an eyebrow at him. 

Raistlin glares back. The girl looks between the two of them, her mouth forming the shape of an “O” and backs away, excusing herself. 

Howl’s eyebrows go even higher. “Well,” he says. “I suppose that’s that.” Feeling rather smug, he takes Raistlin’s arm again. 

Raistlin huffs a sigh, the girl’s assumption not escaping him this time. “If it gets her to leave me alone.”

“Worry not,” Howl says. “I shall defend your maidenly honor. No girl shall steal your virtue while I’m around!” 

“I have no  _ virtue _ to steal,” Raistlin hisses. “Quit being so dramatic.”

Howl laughs, throwing a cheeky wink at another passing girl. He’s in a good mood. 

“If you'd rather entertain yourself  _ elsewhere _ ,” Raistlin says testily, “I'm sure I can find my way to the bookshop on my own.”

Still chucking, Howl squeezes Raistlin’s arm. “My friend,” he says, “there is nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“If I believed you, I'd be flattered,” Raistlin says.

“What,” says Howl, “do I have to do to make you believe me?”

“Be a kind fool, like Caramon,” Raistlin answers with a shrug. “There are very few people in this or any world I trust to mean what they say, and he is one of them.”

“Noted,” says Howl. “Well, I don’t mean a majority of the things I say, but trust that I do mean it when I say I enjoy your company.” He doesn’t make eye contact. 

“I enjoy yours as well,” Raistlin says, less embarrassed about it than Howl. It's just a statement of fact, one he's not sure he's ever truthfully said to anyone before. Howl doesn't need to know that part.

Howl, if possible, grows even smugger, a smirk spreading on his perfectly maintained face. “Here’s the bookstore,” he says. 

It's larger than Raistlin expected, with a larger quality of books. They're everywhere, filling bookshelves and littering the ground in tall stacks. He doesn't trust himself to speak, so he says nothing.

Howl tugs him to the front. The shopkeep sees him coming and gets out his keys, leading the two to a room in the back that he has to unlock. It’s a smaller room, lined with bookcases, but every book inside is full of magic. 

“Go on,” Howl says, looking at Raistlin. 

Raistlin doesn't even hear Howl. He's already entranced by the nearest bookshelf, trailing bony fingers along the dusty covers of old books. 

“Grab whatever you like,” Howl says, already pulling books down from the highest shelf. 

Raistlin snickers. “Don't make such promises, or else we’ll leave with this entire shop.”

“Hm,” Howl says, considering. “I would probably have to pay for that in installments.”

Raistlin doesn't react, other than to tense slightly. “I can help you with your practice,” he offers. “To help pay.”

“That’s… very kind of you,” Howl says, slightly taken aback. “You don’t have to, though.” 

“Yes, I do,” Raistlin says, returning to looking at books and hoping it ends the discussion.

Howl lets it drop, but finds himself worrying. When he finds the book he needs, Raistlin is still looking, so he lets himself out of the door and heads into a different section of the store. 

Raistlin barely notices him leave. He's too engrossed in the books, the sheer variety of them astounding him. Things aren't like this in Krynn.

Hours later, he emerges back into the main section of the store, five large tomes stacked in his arms.

Howl is leaning against the desk, chatting with the clerk. He smiles when he sees Raistlin, and beckons him over. “All of these, then,” he tells the clerk, passing over a purse. “Michael and Calcifer must have missed this,” he says conspiratorially to Raistlin. “They said we had no money, but I found this at the back of the pantry.”

Raistlin has witnessed Michael’s frenzied attempts to hide spare change several times by now, and this time, he's glad they failed. He sets the books on the counter. 

Howl takes his change and gathers up the books, slipping them one by one into a pouch he’d prepared specifically for this. It holds whatever you put into it- not particularly creative, but useful. When all of the books are packed away he stretches and turns to Raistlin. “It’s getting late. Dinner?”

Raistlin reluctantly says, “I suppose.”

Howl leads him to a nearby cafe that serves coffee, wine, and delicate pastries full of meat and vegetables. “How does this look?”

Raistlin looks at Howl. “Better than anything I could find in Krynn.”

“That tavern was charming,” Howl says. “Let’s have wine.”

“The tavern was dirty and unwelcoming,” Raistlin sniffs. “Fine, but only a little.”

They had more than a little. After their first glass, Howl engages Raistlin in an argument about elemental uses in travel spells, and a second glass turns into a third, Raistlin grumbling but accepting. Around the fourth glass Howl is absentmindedly flirting with the waiter in between attempts to tell a story from his and Megan’s childhood. He keeps touching Raistlin’s hand across the table. 

Raistlin isn't sure what sort of magic Howl used to convince him to drink more than one glass. He  _ must _ have used magic. He accuses Howl of such.

“No,” says Howl. “It’s my natural charm.” 

“No, that's not it,” Raistlin says. “Perhaps I just knew I would need the alcohol to put up with you.”

“I don’t blame you,” Howl says. He’s playing with Raistlin’s fingers. “Let’s have another. Another!”

Raistlin can feel his cheeks heating up. This isn't the way this is supposed to be going, but that's been his entire life, lately. “Maybe one more round,” he says.

Howl thinks vaguely about kissing Raistlin’s hand, but he doesn’t do it. “One more, then,” he tells the waiter. “Raist,” he says. “Raist, when did you get so good with kids?”

“I've  _ always  _ been good with kids,” Raistlin says, vaguely offended that Howl might even find that surprising. “I had to be.”

“Why had to?” Howl laces their fingers together. 

“I was apprenticed to my hometown’s medicine woman,” Raistlin says with a flourish of his thin hand-- the one Howl isn’t holding. “When a bad flu hit one winter, spreading like fire among the old and the young, I had to do a lot of comforting of the ill.”

“Oh,” says Howl. “That does make sense. I didn’t much like kids until Megan had Neil and Mari.”

Raistlin nods. “I'm sure when Caramon has children, I'll be…passably fond. Until they turn out like him and Tika.”

Howl snorts. “Maybe they won’t,” he says. “You never know.” Their next glass of wine arrives, as well as the bill. This cafe isn’t exactly the sort of place people tend to get drunk.

“Don't get my hopes up,” Raistlin mutters. “You can pay this time, since you were so insistent on getting me drunk.”

“My dear,” Howl slurs, “for you I would pay every time.” He winks. 

Raistlin tries not to roll his eyes, and pats Howl’s hand fondly. Together, they leave the cafe, Raistlin standing closer than probably necessary to Howl. Still, his proximity to Howl doesn't keep a tall man with a red beard from giving Raistlin an unnecessarily-friendly smile on their way out.

Raistlin stops walking, tilts his head to one side. The man reminds him of Tanis. Tanis,  _ without  _ the sadness and decay marring the lines of his face. The man gets up and starts walking toward him.

“Stare any longer and I might have to make you buy me a drink,” he says. His voice is smoother than Tanis’s; he presents himself much more confidently.

A swirl of possibilities mingles with memories in Raistlin's drunken mind, things that, in another lifetime, were he someone else, had things been different, he would've liked to have happened. For a moment, he forgets all about Howl, who's gone on ahead of him a ways. “ _ You _ approached  _ me _ ; if anyone should be buying drinks, it's  _ you _ .”

Howl looks back at them, raises an eyebrow. 

“Gladly,” the man says.

Howl frowns. “Well,” he says. “I’ll just- I’ll just head back, then.” 

Raistlin glances his way, briefly, and toys with the idea of playing this out. Raistlin has been presented with perfect way to sabotage the worrisome warm feelings have been forming between himself and Howl; he’d be a fool not to take it. There was no reason for him  _ not  _ to take it. It would satisfy old curiosities, maybe make him forget new ones, and if it hurt Howl, well, there's really nothing Howl can do about it. Howl, who flirts with waiters and fucked Raistlin's  _ sister _ , who compliments Raistlin and flirts with Raistlin and is  _ kind  _ to Raistlin and refuses to take it any further. 

At the thought, Raistlin's swirl of emotions shift into focus. The jealousy, the hurt, the  _ longing _ \-- all emotions he's used to feeling, but never directed at a specific person-- he feels with regard to Howl. 

When not-Tanis slips away to get drinks, Howl’s frown turns into a scowl, and he turns on his heel and storms away. For added effect, clouds start to gather in the sky above him. 

He feels stupid. 

Raistlin watches him storm off. He manages to hold off about twenty seconds before he turns and follows Howl, even going so far as to jog the few necessary steps to catch Howl by the back of the jacket.

“What,” Howl says. 

“Where are you going?” Raistlin asks.

“Back to the castle?”

“Without me?” Raistlin asks. His tone mirrors Howl’s, flat and annoyed. Annoyed with himself, mostly, for the lack of self-control he knows he's about to show.

“Aren’t you getting drinks with  _ him _ ?” Howl almost spits. His glass eyes are flat. Raistlin sees echoes of his own jealousy reflected in them, and he makes his decision.

“He reminded me of an old…friend. One I haven't seen in a long time. It made me hesitate, but I’m not the kind to have drinks with a stranger.”

Howl frowns, mildly. The roll of thunder over his head shows the true depths of his feelings towards that. 

Raistlin looks up at the clouds pointedly. “Stop being a child.”

It starts to rain. Howl’s face doesn’t change. 

Raistlin grabs Howl’s wrist and pulls him closer. The rain moves with Howl, hitting Raistlin, as well. In a low whisper, he says, “I told you to  _ stop _ . I’m here with you, but if you keep pouting, I’ll go back to him.”

Howl blinks. “What,” he says. The rain peters out, leaving them drenched in the sun. 

Raistlin’s grip on Howl’s wrist tightens, surprisingly strong. “Do you want this, or don't you?”

Howl stares, his eyes going wide. His impulse is to run, leave everything that scares him behind and book it to the hills. He puts his free hand over Raistlin’s, and nods, once. 

“Good,” Raistlin snarls, almost possessively. Then, he kisses Howl. It's harsh, and his nails dig into Howl’s wrist, but he holds on to Howl tight, as if afraid he’ll suddenly disappear.

Howl isn’t ready for the kiss, much less for its intensity. He stumbles backwards, pulling Raistlin with him as he does, trying to remember how to make his lips move the right way when he isn’t the one in control. His back hits the wall of a building and he lets himself lean against it, feeling sparks of pain in his wrist where Raistlin is holding him. He kisses back. 

When Howl stumbles back into the wall, Raistlin follows him, and places his free hand beside Howl’s head, boxing him in.

Howl loops his free hand into the lapels of Raistlin’s jacket, and without breaking the kiss transports them both back to his room in the castle, leaving behind only a rush of magic and a few titillated onlookers. 

Their feet hit the carpet with quite a bit of force- Howl is too drunk to finesse the spell. He stumbles forwards against Raistlin. 

Raistlin wraps an arm around Howl’s waist to support him, again, his strength surprising. The spell mixed with the alcohol makes him a little dizzy, and he leans heavily into Howl, working a hand into Howl’s hair.

Howl bites down on Raistlin’s lower lip, tugging at it with his teeth. Raistlin gives a little snarl into the kiss and tightens his grip on Howl’s hair, using his grip to tilt Howl's face up and deepen the kiss. It hurts, a little, but Howl relaxes against Raistlin, letting him guide him. It’s not new for him, relinquishing control like this, but he’s scared to do so every time. Through the haze of wine in his head he wonders if Raistlin’s grip is going to leave a mark. 

Raistlin backs Howl toward his bed, until the backs of his legs are pressed against it. He bites back.

Howl falls back onto the bed and starts shrugging out of his shirt. Raistlin drops his cloak before following Howl down, straddling his hips and helping him with his shirt. Some small voice in his head is telling him that this is reckless, but Raistlin silences the voice by kissing Howl again. He's allowed this one act of recklessness.

Howl kisses back, breaking it only to pull his shirt over his head. He works his hands into Raistlin’s hair, pulling the other man closer. He’s still terrified of what he’s doing, what it means, and how much he wants this, but he knows he can’t stop now. The undercurrent of selfish, cowardly fear makes the current moment sharper.

Raistlin presses Howl down into the bed, pins Howl’s hands on either side of his head. His grip on Howl's wrists is hard enough to bruise, but his kiss is gentle.

Howl sighs into it, flexing his hands. He wants to run his fingers through Raistlin’s hair- he can feel strands of it tickling his bare shoulders. Raistlin reluctantly releases Howl’s hands and runs one of his own down Howl’s chest. He bites Howl’s lower lip again, then moves to bite little marks along Howl’s jaw.

Howl arches his back, wrapping his arms around Raistlin and gathering fistfuls of his tunic. He makes little breathy gasps every time Raistlin’s teeth meet his skin. 

Raistlin hums into Howl's jaw, rakes his nails down Howl's sides in a way that's sure to leave marks. Howl gasps and writhes against him, biting down on his shoulder. 

Raistlin begins undoing Howl’s belt.

Howl lets him, sliding his hands up along Raistlin’s back under his tunic. He leans up and captures Raistlin’s lips again, harder. 

Raistlin's momentarily derailed by Howl’s lips. He forgets what his hands were doing, and instead, he runs them through Howl’s hair, kissing Howl back with equal vigor.

Hands still under Raistlin’s shirt, Howl runs his hands up the other wizard’s chest, slowly. He sits up and pushes Raistlin back until he can straddle his lap, legs splayed on either side. 

Raistlin lets out a surprised huff and pulls Howl closer to him, arching up into him and kissing up his neck.

Howl hums, running his hands through Raistlin’s hair. It’s soft. He grinds down on Raistlin’s lap. 

Raistlin’s breath hitches in his throat, and his hands find Howl’s ass. “You,” he growls, “Are  _ maddening _ .”

Howl laughs, a puff of air on Raistlin’s ear. “Am I?”

Raistlin's grip on Howl tightens, and it's his turn to grind up in to Howl. “You  _ know _ you are.”

Howl’s breath catches. “I want you,” he says, biting Raistlin’s earlobe, “to tell me.” 

Raistlin huffs something like a laugh, then kisses Howl. “Flirtatious  _ brat _ . Let me fuck you, and I'll  _ show _ you.”

Howl sits back and raises an eyebrow. His hair has all come out of its elaborate style, falling tousled across his shoulders. He grins. “All right, then,  _ Master  _ Raistlin, show me.”

Raistlin pushes Howl back down onto the mattress and climbs on top of him, finally tearing Howl’s belt off and throwing it across the room. He starts working Howl’s pants off. 

“Wow,” says Howl. “I didn’t actually realize that I was into that until, like, right now.” He arches off the bed so that Raistlin can get his pants down across his hips. 

“Which part,” Raistlin mumbles into Howl’s skin. He's too interested in kissing his way down Howl’s torse to break away.

“Mm,” Howl hums, winding his hands into Raistlin’s hair. “The belt p- the. All of it,” he sighs.

Raistlin chuckles into Howl’s skin and settles himself between Howl’s legs. Howl looks down at him with wide eyes, arousal apparent in more areas than just his face. He waits. 

Raistlin looks up at Howl, sweeps his hair over one shoulder, and closes his lips around Howl's dick.

Howl makes a stifled noise in the back of his throat and tugs on Raistlin’s hair. 

Raistlin picks up a sloppy and uncoordinated rhythm, a testament to how drunk he is, and digs his nails into Howl’s hips. Howl’s breathing grows ragged, and he bites down on his own hand. He’s also very drunk, and it’s making everything…..  _ more _ . 

Raistlin stops what he's doing, looks up at Howl, and smirks. “This isn’t what I promised. Turn over.”

Howl groans. “You’re  _ evil _ ,” he gasps. 

“So I’ve been told,” Raistlin says. “ _ Turn _ .”

“Make me,” Howl says. 

Raistlin sits up. All it takes is a flick of his wrist and a sliver of intent, and Howl’s flipped over. “Next, I'll conjure up bindings. Or perhaps a gag.”

“Oh, my  _ god _ ,” says Howl. He buries his face in the dusty sheets. “Ah, wait, wait.” He waves his hand and conjures up a small bottle, which he passes back to Raistlin. “Use this, for the love of all that is holy.”

Raistlin takes the bottle, examines it curiously. He wonders where Howl conjured it from, whether he just has a store of bottles like this on hand for these exact situations. Deciding it's not important, he traces a gentle finger down Howl’s back, entranced by the play of muscles there that are unmarred by decay.

Howl hums, shifting uncomfortably. “Get on with it,” he says. “Unless you want me to fuck myself.”

Raistlin withdraws his hand. “I  _ would _ like to see that, actually."

Howl looks back at him and gestures for the bottle of lube. Raistlin hands it to him.

Howl uncaps it with magic and slicks it all over his fingers, then reaches back and starts working one, then two inside himself, biting the sheets to stifle any noises he might inadvertently make. 

Raistlin sits back and enjoys the view presented to him. He never did anything like this  _ before _ his eyes were cursed, so there was never really any enjoying it. Not like this.

Eventually getting too impatient, Raistlin grabs the bottle and wraps his hand around Howl’s wrist, a warning that it's his turn, now.

Howl lets go and relaxes for a second. 

Raistlin replaces Howl’s two fingers with three of his own and crooks them  _ just so _ . Howl stifles a scream into the sheets, gasping and twitching. Raistlin smirks, his other hand works at his own belt. When he gets frustrated with that, he snarls and  _ magics _ the belt away.

Finally, too slowly, Raistlin’s ready, and so is Howl. He removes his fingers from Howl and lines up, still sober and vaguely aware enough to wait for verbal confirmation from Howl before continuing.

“Just- just-  _ fuck _ me, you horrible, teasing ass!”

Raistlin sneers, not that Howl can see, then obliges. Slowly, at first, and stopping to collect himself halfway in. Howl shudders and moves backwards, driving Raistlin the rest of the way.

Raistlin gasps, his grip on Howl’s hips tightening. Partially in retaliation, he pushes Howl down by the shoulder blades so he can get a better angle, and he begins fucking Howl in earnest.  

Howl gasps, and again, propping himself on his elbows and gritting his teeth. Raistlin hits just  _ so _ and his entire spine seems to melt. “Like- like that,” he spits out. “ _ God.” _

Raistlin’s lip curls at the mention of gods. “Like what?” he asks, sounding much too innocent for what they're currently doing. “What was that, Howl?”

“Agh,” Howl says, biting the sheets. He moves back again, disrupting Raistlin’s rhythm. 

Raistlin's hips stutter a bit at the shift. He grabs a fistful of Howl’s hair, careful not to pull  _ too _ hard, to hold him in place while he fucks into him. Howl chokes a little, whimpering. He still refuses to make a noise louder than a gasp. He’s breathing heavily. 

Raistlin’s breathing just as heavily, if not more so. He lets go of Howl's hair and drapes himself over Howl’s back, starts biting marks into Howl's shoulder, if just to give himself something to focus on, to draw this out.

Howl laughs breathily, bucking backwards into him. The combination of the slight pain from Raistlin’s teeth and the mounting tension inside him pushes him over the edge and he tenses, then sighs, his entire body shaking. 

Raistlin doesn't give Howl much time to recover, instead increasing his speed and getting a firm grip on Howl’s hips. Howl whimpers again, his hips jerking out of time, randomly. He’s shuddering. Raistlin gasps out Howl's name and tumbles over the edge as well, left panting against Howl’s back as he rides it through. 

Finally, Howl collapses onto the bed, breathing deeply. He closes his eyes and waits through the alcohol and orgasm induced dizziness, enjoying the feeling of Raistlin’s lips against his back. 

Raistlin pulls out and collapses beside Howl, breathing heavily. His limbs are shaking and he's a bit dizzy. Howl rolls over and pulls Raistlin close to him, burying his face in the other man’s hair. He sighs too, contentedly. 

Raistlin tenses for a brief moment, debates fleeing, then relaxes into the touch. He doesn't think he can physically walk right now anyway, and he left the Staff of Magius back at the cafe. 

Howl presses a kiss to the crown of Raistlin’s head. Raistlin sighs and leans into it, letting his eyes flutter shut.

They sleep. 


	9. DAY THIRTEEN

Raistlin wakes up in a bedroom, for the first time since coming to Ingary. His head is pounding horribly, but it doesn't take him long for him to remember the events of the previous night, mostly because of the warm weight pressed against his side.

Raistlin closes his eyes and sighs. He shouldn't have done this. Maybe Howl was so drunk that he'll forget. Or maybe there's a forgetting spell in one of the new books Raistlin got yesterday.

Slowly, he begins extricating himself from Howl’s limbs, climbing out of the bed as quietly as possible. He spots his pants beside the bed and pulls them on. He doesn't actually remember what happened to his belt. He can worry about that later.

“You leaving?” Howl mumbles. 

Raistlin freezes where he stands. “I...might be,” he admits.

“Hmm,” Howl says, and yawns, stretching. He’s still completely naked and the morning sun illuminates all of the various bruises on his skin. “I’ll pretend it didn’t happen if you do the same.”

Raistlin gives him a blank look, then his eyes drops to the marks lining Howl’s jaw and neck. “Agreed.”

“Mm,” Howl says, and rolls over. He appears to go back to sleep. 

Raistlin nods to himself, unsurprised by this turn of events, and leaves the room. He’s always been  _ excellent _ at sneaking, and he gets past Michael’s room without making a sound, but there's no escaping the fire burning in the large pit at the bottom of the stairs.

“ _ Only a fool, _ hm?” Calcifer snickers. 

“ _ Shut up _ ,” Raistlin snaps.

“No,” says Calcifer. “I’m going to get my jokes in while I can, before the two of you start  _ angsting  _ and the castle inevitably fills with slime.”

“Too late,” Raistlin says, choosing not to comment on the slime remark. He proceeds straight to the door, making sure its still blue-down, and leaves the house without looking back.

Howl is still in the bathroom when Raistlin returns. Michael looks up at him from the kitchen table, where he’s working on a spell. “Oh,” he says. “Did you come back yesterday?” 

“Got lost in the bookstore,” Raistlin grumbles, debating leaving again, before Howl gets out. 

“They both came back,” Calcifer calls, traitor that he is. “You just didn’t see.” 

“Did something happen?” asks Michael. “I was worried!”

Raistlin glances coolly at Calcifer. “Of course nothing happened. Sorry to worry you.”

“Oh,” Michael says again. “Well, okay. Did Howl pick up that book I asked him for?” 

“Maybe. I didn’t notice. You’ll have to ask him.”

“He’s been in there for  _ so _ long,” Michael complains, nodding at the bathroom door. 

Raistlin scowls at the door, like doing so might get Howl out faster. Howl chooses that moment to open the door. The first thing he sees is Raistlin glowering at him. He raises an eyebrow. “Can I help you?” 

Raistlin jumps a little at the door suddenly banging open, then, when he recovers, he noods coolly. “My books.”

Howl looks confused for a second, then laughs. “Right, right. I’ll go grab them.” The bruises on his jaw are suspiciously gone, but when he turns to the stairs his shirt shifts and reveals a line of purple marks down his neck. 

Raistlin smirks a little, hiding his face so Howl can't see, and slips into the bathroom for his own bit of cleaning up.

Howl comes back down with his pouch and starts unloading books, passing two to Michael and setting others aside in piles on the tabletop. Raistlin’s pile includes the books he chose, plus one Howl had picked out for him. 

Raistlin emerges from the bathroom in a significantly  _ smaller _ cloud of steam and fragrance than Howl’s, his hair damp and his expression vaguely pleased with himself. He doesn't look at anyone, just marches over to his usual chair, picks up the first book off the stack, and starts reading.

It’s the book Howl had picked for him- one on the history and customs of Ingary, especially as relating to magic. Howl had hoped that it would help Raistlin to feel more grounded in this world. 

Raistlin doesn't even seem to notice it's not one of the books he picked out for himself, and he certainly doesn't thank Howl. 

Howl rushes around in his usual fashion, tinkering with spells in different areas of the house in between giving Michael advice and chatting. Life continues as normal. 

Someone knocks on the door. “Kingsbury,” says Calcifer. 

Howl traipses to the door, opening it with a flourish of long sleeves. A courtier stands outside, and inquires politely as to the presence of another Sir Wizard in the household. 

Howl blinks, then chuckles. “Raistlin,” he calls over his shoulder. “Come here.”

Raistlin sinks deeper into his chair and turns the page of his book pointedly.

Howl sighs. “He seems to be busy. What is it you’d like to speak to him about?”

The courtier goes on at length, and Howl nods and thanks him, then wanders over to Raistlin’s chair and leans on the back of it. 

“You,” he says, “have a customer.”

“What?” Raistlin asks. This actually gets him to look up from the book he's reading. “Why?”

“I suppose news of you being here got around,” Howl says. “Which doesn’t surprise me.” 

Raistlin blinks at him. He's not sure how he feels about the implied permanence of this, but at least for now, having some money of his own could be good. He'd been considering going back to his old game of performing tricks in the street for change, but this suits him much better. “Ah. Alright.”

Howl hands him the description of what the courtier wanted and disappears back to his work. 

Raistlin takes it, looks over it. It's a simple enough spell, one that he would've been able to pull off in his first few days here. He’ll be able to do it easily, now. Raistlin sets it aside and returns to his book, glancing at Howl’s back as he leaves.

There’s another knock. “Porthaven door,” Calcifer calls. Michael opens it, since Howl is off doing whatever it is he does. After a minute or so, he appears by Raistlin’s chair. “It’s for you,” he says, hesitant. 

Raistlin grumbles and climbs out of his chair this time, showing up at the door looking grumpy and put-upon. “What?”

A woman stands there with a child clutching her skirts. “My husband is sick,” she says, “they can’t figure out what’s wrong. I thought, can I buy a spell that will tell me?”

Raistlin’s never heard of a spell like that. He looks back at Michael to see if he has any idea. 

Michael shrugs. “We have a book on medicine,” he says. 

“Perhaps combine it with a finding spell?” Howl calls. 

Raistlin thinks it over a moment, then nods. “Wait here a moment, please.” Then, he closes the door in her face, brushes past Michael, and begins preparing the spell. He returns to the door only a minute later, and hands over a small wrapped satchet with hastily--but neatly-- scribbled instructions. “If this doesn't help, come see me. I maybe able to look at him myself; I have a background in medicine.”

“Thank you,” she says, reverent, and passes him a bundle of coins. 

Raistlin takes the coins and shuts the door when the woman leaves. “Hm,” he says, looking at the bundle of coins in his hand.

Michael gestures at him frantically, pointing at his latest hiding spot, the hollow stone in front of the hearth. 

Raistlin raises an eyebrow at him, instead taking out the pouch that holds the dragon orb and placing the coins inside there. He pulls the drawstring tight.

“What’s that?” Michael asks, suspicious. 

Raistlin looks down his nose at Michael. “It’s a bag.”

Michael groans. “What  _ kind _ of bag?” 

“The kind that  _ holds things, _ ” Raistlin says, primly.

Michael groans. The door to the yard opens, and Howl breezes by. “What have you done to my apprentice?” he asks. 

“What have  _ I _ done?” Raistlin asks. “We were just having a conversation, he and I. That’s all.”

“I see,” Howl says. “Well! Congratulations on your new business.” 

Raistlin snorts and places a hand over where the pouch is now squarely hidden away. “Certainly different than any other business I’ve been engaged in.”

“Oh?” says Howl. “And what business was that?” 

“Well,” Raistlin begins, “There were several. I started, as a child, performing sleight-of-hand tricks in the street to earn enough for food for my brother and I.” He continues, voice entirely void of expression, “Of course, that’s until my professor found out and threatened to have me expelled.”

Something in Howl’s gaze shifts slightly, as if he’s taking the conversation more seriously all of a sudden. “You would think a professor would appreciate students’ resourcefulness, no matter how dire the situation,” he says, which is not entirely what he means. 

“That’s what I said,” Raistlin says, watching Howl with an unreadable expression. Then, he shrugs and looks away. “After that, years later, I became a mercenary, and I stayed such until I grew powerful enough to do whatever I wanted.”

Howl raises a brow. “Mercenary work?” 

Raistlin smirks. “I know what you’re thinking. My physique doesn’t particularly lend itself to battle. Caramon handled the fighting; I handled the magic.”

“Interesting,” Howl says, his eyes lighting up. “What kind of magic?” 

“Battle magic,” Raistlin says. “Magic designed to kill, quickly and efficiently, or prevent others from killing you first.”

Howl flops into a chair, eyes on Raistlin. “Tell me how your battle magic works,” he says. 

Raistlin shrugs. “The warriors cover us, watch our backs while we gather the requisite concentration. Caramon and I were some of the best at working together, in sync. Spells used for battle are generally crude and fierce; the idea is to hit once, and have that be enough.”

“Precision and accuracy,” Howl replies, nodding. “Do you ever fight other magic users?” 

“Of course,” Raistlin says with a disdainful sniff.

“How does that go?” 

“You get them before they get you,” Raistlin says, simply.

“Do you have spells that will counter magic, or is it all based on who shoots first?” Howl leans in. 

“Yes,” Raistlin says with a smirk, answering both questions. “There  _ are _ spells for countering an opponent’s attack, but if they’re stronger than you, that will mean nothing.”

“Interesting, interesting,” Howl says. “It’s much different here. I imagine if you went into a battle with a magic user with the mindset of battle in Krynn, it wouldn’t last very long.” 

“Don’t underestimate me,” Raistlin snaps, and then, curious, he asks, “How does it work here?”

Howl blinks, taken aback. “I meant for the other side,” he says. “Here, a lot of battle is based in illusion, quick reaction and outthinking your opponent. A weaker magician would be at a disadvantage, but could still theoretically win. Simply overpowering your opponent is rarely needed. What you want to do is more… move with their magic and turn their own power against them. It’s like a dance,” he continues. “Except one where you could die, of course.”

“I see,” Raistlin says. “It sounds…” He trails off. He’s not sure if he’s ever used the word  _ fun _ in his life, but he’s not going to start now. “Interesting.”

“It’s invigorating, but terrifying,” Howl says. “You poke at your opponent’s defenses and find their weak spots, attempt to confuse them, catch them when they’re unawares. Often fights don’t really have a victor, just one who walks away.”

Raistlin smiles a little. “Caramon would balk at the idea of  _ walking away _ from a fight without winning.”

Howl chuckles. “That sounds right. Oh! Speaking of Caramon, come here a second.”

Howl peers at Raistlin when he approaches, then reaches up and snips off a lock of his silver-white hair. 

Raistlin grabs Howl’s wrist before he can draw it back, the one holding the lock of hair. His fingers wrap around the bruises he'd put there the night before. “ _ What  _ are you doing?” Raistlin hisses.

“Making something for  _ you _ ,” Howl hisses back. “Come see.”

“You can't just take a lock of my hair and expect me to trust you,” Raistlin says, snatching the lock of his hair from Howl’s hand. “In my world, that's reserved for the  _ darkest  _ curses.”

“I only need an anchor,” Howl says, slightly confused. “Something that won’t decay.”

Raistlin narrows his eyes at Howl. “For what purpose?”

“Let me show you,” Howl insists. 

Raistlin doesn't relax, but he hands Howl the lock of hair. “Fine.”

Howl beams and takes it, then pulls Raistlin into the backyard. A doorframe stands upright in the middle, the air inside it shimmering with magic and purpose. Howl steps around it carefully and picks up a bowl, which he holds out in front of him. He raises an eyebrow at Raistlin and drops in the hair. 

The air in the center of the frame wavers, and then a picture starts to form. The inside of a tavern can be vaguely seen, people bustling to and fro. 

Howl turns to Raistlin and grins. “What do you think?”

Raistlin’s eyes widen. “Is that...Krynn?”

“It is,” Howl says, looking pleased with himself. “You can’t go through yet, the spell isn’t finished until I get it into the framework of the door. But I figured we could add another color to the wheel, and that would work pretty nicely.”

Raistlin takes a step away from the door. “Ah. This door will be a permanent installation?”

“As permanent as you want it to be,” Howl shrugs.

“Then dismantle it,” Raistlin says, turning and heading back into the house.

“What?” Howl says, indignant. “Not even a  _ thank you? _ I did all this work!”

“I didn't ask you to,” Raistlin says with a shrug.

“Ungrateful,” Howl says, then with one large motion closes the doorframe down like a screen into one board and carries it inside. 

“You're not the first one to say so,” Raistlin agrees pleasantly, not looking back at Howl.

Howl ignores him, making his way to the door. He unfurls the screen, the scene from Krynn wavering on it, and pushes it into the door. The whole door sort of shifts and fizzes, then snaps back into place with a  _ pop _ . 

Howl runs to the cabinet and returns with a thing of paint, dabbing a purple blob onto the knob above the door. He turns the knob purple-down and opens it onto a scene of large trees. “Huh,” he says. “Where is this?”

Raistlin casts a distasteful glace at the door. “Solace,” he says. “Out the front door of the Inn of the Last Home, by the look of it.”

“Hm,” Howl says, still annoyed by Raistlin’s lack of enthusiasm. He starts to shut the door, but is suddenly bowled over by a small, fast moving figure with a topknot. 

“ _ Tika _ !” the voice is yelling. He fails to stop even once he's inside, and he runs into Raistlin. “ _ Oomf _ . Sorry, sir-- Raistlin!”

“No,” Raistlin says, a look of sheer terror on his face, “Not  _ you _ . Anyone but  _ you.” _

Howl sits up, rubbing the back of his head, and closes the door. The knob spins to blue-down. “You know him?” he asks. 

“Raistlin, by the gods, what are you wearing?” the newcomer asks, tugging on Raistlin’s new coat. Raistlin bats his hands away before they can reach for his pockets. “It’s a good look. Much better than those awful robes. Does this mean you're not a wizard anymore?”

“Idiot,” Raistlin hisses. He grabs the kender’s shoulders and turns him around, then begins forcing him back toward the door. “Get out.”

The kender easily maneuvers his way out of Raistlin's grip, however, and spots Howl standing by the door. He holds a hand out. “Tasslehoff Burrfoot, at your service.”

“Howl Pendragon,” Howl says, taking his hand hesitantly. 

Tasslehoff shakes Howl’s hand enthusiastically, then immediately moves on to explore the rest of the room. “This place is a  _ mess _ ,” he says. “Raist, do you live here? Aren't there any magical cleaning spells?”

“Raistlin,” Howl says, “Is your friend going to clean my house?” 

“Of all valuables,” Raistlin says. “Missing any rings, Howl?”

Howl looks down and blinks. “I am, actually.” 

“Tasslehoff,” Raistlin says, “Give it back.”

“But Raist, I don’t have— oh! Is this ring yours?” Tasslehoff offers it up to Howl. “Better be careful. Don’t want to lose something so valuable.”

Howl blinks, and then without further comment turns and raises his arms, calling up power. Thunder rolls and lightning cracks in the Wastes outside of the castle, and when he drops his arms, nothing has perceptibly changed. “There,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you, Tassle-.... Ta…. Tas.” 

“Oh! You’re a wizard, too! That was so cool! Raist never does anything flashy like that, even though I always ask him to. What did you just do? It’s Tasslehoff, by the way. Tasslehoff Burrfoot. But you can call me Tas. All my friends do. Right, Raist?”

Raistlin is too busy rubbing his temples to answer.

Howl starts laughing. “You like flashy? Here, meet Calcifer. Calcifer!” 

Calcifer flares up in the grate, shooting blue sparks across the room. 

Tasslehoff is over at the fire in an instant. “Whoa! Why’s there a face in the fire? Hello, there!”

While Tasslehoff is distracted, Raistlin hisses, “Don’t encourage him.”

Howl smiles. “I didn’t know you had  _ friends _ ,” is all he says. 

“Oh, he's got lots of them!” Tasslehoff says, then he starts counting them on his fingers, “There’s me, and Caramon, and Stu-- oh, er, Tanis, and Laurana, and Goldmoon and Riverwind, and Kitiara, I guess, and that dark elf that he lives with, and-- hm. Do you have any other friends, Raist?”

“Shut  _ up _ , you idiot kender.”

“I’m his friend,” Howl says brightly. 

“Oh! Good! I’m proud of you, Raist, making friends without me or Caramon there to help you. I’m one of his oldest friends, you know,” Tasslehoff says gravely. He goes back to studying the fire.

Howl beams and makes his way over to the kender. “I bet you have a lot of good stories,” he says. 

Calcifer cackles. 

“This is Calcifer,” Howl continues. “Calcifer, meet Tas.” 

“My pleasure,” he crackles. 

“It talks! Raist, it talks! Nice to meet you, Calcifer, I'm Tasslehoff Burrfoot. I'd shake your hand, but...you're fire.” 

“I am a fire  _ demon _ , thank you,” Calcifer spits. 

Howl smiles a real smile, not one intended to charm, and turns on Raistlin. “I like him,” he says. 

“I don’t,” Raistlin sighs.

“Ooh, a fire demon! That's even better!” Tasslehoff says.

Calcifer flares, laughing his spitting laugh. “Never seen one before?” he asks. 

“Has he really known you forever?” Howl asks Raistlin. 

“Not  _ forever _ …” Raistlin says.

“No, I have,” Tasslehoff says to Calcifer. “You're different from the fire demons  _ I’ve _ seen, though,” he says, and maybe it's a lie, but no one but Raistlin could know that, and he might not even know, either. He turns to Howl and stands as straight as he can. “I've known Raistlin since he was a scrawny little kid, barely taller than me. Don't you remember, Raist? All that mess with the Widow Judith?”

“I remember,” Raistlin says weakly.

“I want to know,” Howl says. He’s so very pleased by this turn of events. 

“Oh! The Widow Judith was this horrible old lady who worshipped this snake god names Bell-door.”

“Belzor,” Raistlin corrects.

“Yeah. That. Well, anyway, she was ripping off a bunch of poor people and Raist here--” He puts a hand on Raistlin’s arm, and Raistlin promptly brushes him off. “--

Had to help them, so he used magic to conjure this  _ giant _ snake--” Here, Tasslehoff uses his hands to demonstrate that it was indeed, very large, “--And I sort of forget what happened after that, but Raistlin almost got burned at the stake and we had to rescue him.”

Howl blinks. “I’m glad you did,” he says, shocked into being honest. 

“Me too! Pretty sure we’ve all regretted it once or twice, though, right Raist?” 

Raistlin glares at him.

“It's not  _ our _ fault, Mister Black-robes,” Tasslehoff says. 

“What?” Howl frowns. 

“Oh, he betrayed everyone and left us to die,” Tasslehoff says, “But it was really just to turn evil and then save all of our lives, I think. Maybe.”

Raistlin shrugs.

“Huh,” says Howl. “You’ve led a wild life, haven’t you, my friend?” he asks. 

“Has he told you about the dragons?” Tasslehoff asks. “Oh! Do  _ you _ have dragons?”

“No, and no,” Howl says. “Raistlin hasn’t told me much at all.” Howl is getting the distinct feeling that once again he’s given too much information about himself to someone who will use him. 

“Oh, he's like that,” Tasslehoff says. “Not even Caramon would know his name if they hadn't been born together. I can tell you whatever you want to know, though!”

“I’m leaving,” Raistlin announces.

“Bye,” says Howl. “Tasslehoff, tell me  _ everything _ you know.”

Raistlin harrumphs and crosses his arm. “I  _ will _ summon a dragon to swallow you whole, kender.”

“No, you won’t. Hm, let’s see,” Tasslehoff says, sitting in Raistlin’s chair by the fire. “There was the time Raist almost drowned a dwarf, or...hm. Did you know that one time he put a love spell thing on a gully dwarf and she fell in love with him? It was really cute. I thought Raistlin was gonna cry when he had to say goodbye. And there was the time where he and Caramon threw a party for their sister Kitiara and Raistlin bewitched Sturm’s armor to play music all night. Oh! We always used to call him the Sly One because he was always so--,”

“ _ Tasslehoff _ ,” Raistlin snaps. “That's enough.”

Howl’s eyes are very round. “How come I never see your fun side, Raist?” 

It’s at this moment that the illusion Howl has been keeping up on his face peters out, spent. 

“You  _ have _ ,” Raistlin says, unnoticing.

“ _ What _ ? Raist, it took you  _ years _ to show me yours!” Tasslehoff says. He turns to Howl, paying more attention to him than he has up to this point. His eyebrows shoot up. “You got some, uh, hickeys on your face there.”

Howl claps his hand over the bruises. “Damnit,” he mutters. 

“Boy, somebody was clearly real into it,” Tasslehoff says cheerfully. “Nice.”

“I enjoyed it,” Howl says, sounding slightly choked. 

Tasslehoff cackles. “Well, congrats. Raist, I like your friend. You could learn some things from h--,” Tasslehoff looks over at Raistlin, and the words die in his mouth. He's seen that look on Raistlin's face way too many times-- he looks innocent and disinterested, but Raistlin only looks  _ innocent _ when he's  _ not.  _ Tasslehoff starts laughing.

Howl raises an eyebrow. 

Tasslehoff, between laughs, turns on Howl. “I can't believe you corrupted  _ Raistlin.  _ I don't remember blessing this union,” he says, affronted.

“He was plenty corrupt before  _ I _ got to him,” Howl says. 

“Gross,” Tasslehoff says, still laughing.

“I’m  _ really _ going to leave this time,” Raistlin announces.

“Please don’t leave me alone with him,” Howl says, turning to Raistlin. 

“He's a harmless menace,” Raistlin says, turning toward the door. “Ask him for more  _ stories, _ ” he hisses.

_ “ _ Raistlin,” Howl hisses, but Raistlin is gone. 

Tasslehoff has picked up one of the fire pokers and is about to try to goad Calcifer into speaking again. 

Howl frowns. 

Calcifer flares. “Don’t you dare,” he says. 

“Doesn't it feel good?” Tasslehoff asks. “I feel like if  _ I _ was a fire demon, I’d love a good poke now and then.”

“No!” says Calcifer. “I do not! Keep your pokes away from me,” he hisses. 

Howl laughs. 

“Oh,” Tasslehoff says, “Sorry about that. I was just trying to help.”

“With what,” Calcifer says. 

Howl is currently trying to restart his illusion. It fizzes and sputters out immediately. 

“Why hide it,” Tasslehoff says, “We all know you hooked up with the weird wizard.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Howl mutters. “He’s not  _ that _ weird.”

Tasslehoff gives Howl a strange look. “If you say so,” he says. Then, completely changing the subject, “Have you met Caramon yet?”

“Yes,” says Howl. “He’s sweet.”

“You  _ have! _ ” Tasslehoff says, surprised. “I  _ love  _ Caramon. He's one of my favorites of our original company. Don't tell Tanis or Flint.”

“Who?” Howl asks. “I don’t know them. I met Caramon and Kitiara.”

“Oh, Tanis was our leader,” Tasslehoff says, “He led us through so much. We all looked up to him, even Raistlin.”

“I see?” Howl says. He doesn’t see. He has no idea who Tanis is. 

“When we like,” Tasslehoff says, “saved the world, it was thanks to Tanis. You should meet him! He's Half-elven. And has a red beard and is really cool. You’d like him. Everyone does.”

Howl thinks about the man from the cafe yesterday and scowls. “If everyone likes him,” he says, “I probably won’t.”

“Not possible!” Tasslehoff says, “Well, maybe. I don't really know you at all, except that Raistlin likes you. How'd you meet?”

“He found me when my dimensional portal spat me out in Krynn,” Howl says. 

“Oh,” Tasslehoff says, only partially understanding and only because of his adventures in time and space with Raistlin years before. “That was awfully nice of him.”

“It was,” Howl agrees. “Surprisingly so.” 

“Huh. So what happened to the Inn of the Last Home? I had something awfully important to tell Tika.”

“It’s right where you left it,” Howl says, turning the knob on the door purple-down. He opens it to the trees of Solace. 

“Ooh, neat!” Tasslehoff runs over to the door and looks outside, then and rushes over to the window and looks out. “How do you do that?”

“Magic,” Howl says, raising an eyebrow. He flips the knob to blue-down and opens the door to the Wastes, slowly moving past the castle as it drifts.

“Well,  _ duh _ , it's magic,” Tasslehoff says, putting his hands on his hips. “But you didn't say any words or anything. Hey, how’s Raist gonna come back?” 

“You don’t need to,” Howl says. “And either Calcifer or I will open the door for him- look.” He turns it to purple-down and opens the door to Solace again.

“Oh. So are you and Raistlin dating?”

Howl chokes. “No,” he says. 

“Ah. That's what Kit and Tanis always said too, though, so I don't believe you.”

“If I say yes and profess my undying love for him, will you believe we aren’t dating?” Howl sighs.

“Well  _ that’s _ taking it a bit too far.  _ No one _ would believe  _ that _ ,” Tasslehoff says.

“If you aren’t going to believe me regardless of what I say, what does it matter?” Howl replies. 

“Well...I dunno,” Tas says with a shrug. “I guess it doesn't. Just...you seem like a nice guy, so be careful.”

“I’m not a nice guy,” Howl says, testily. “I’m wicked and heartless and I’m never careful.” 

“Oh. That’s different, then.”

Howl sighs. He has no idea what to make of Tasslehoff. 

Tas shifts toward the door. He has no idea what to make of Howl. He has his hand on the doorknob when Raistlin storms back in, almost knocking the kender off his feet. 

“Raist! You're back!” Tasslehoff says. He never thought he'd be  _ relieved _ to see Raistlin Majere.

“Yes, just in time for you to  _ leave _ ,” Raistlin says.

“Oh, so soon?” Howl says, perking up. 

“But Raist, we have so much catching up to do!” Tasslehoff protests.

“Tasslehoff,” Raistlin begins, trying to hide his annoyance, “Would you go get Tika for me, bring her here? I’d like to talk to her about something.”

“Sure, Raist! I’ll be right back!” Tasslehoff moves to go out the door, but he can't quite seem to make it past the door frame. He leans against it, then back up and goes in for a running start, but there's some sort of invisible barrier that won't let him pass through.

Howl grins. “Well well well,” he says. “Better empty your pockets.”

“My what? But why?” Tasslehoff says, his hands going to the many pouches he wears on his belt.

“I put a spell on the house so you wouldn’t carry off everything I own, is why,” Howl says, raising an eyebrow. “Empty the pouches.” 

Raistlin laughs.

“But I don't have anything of yours!” Tasslehoff insists. Then, to prove it, he drops down onto the ground and begins dumping out the contents of his pouches. “See? There’s-- oh, I don't know what that is. And I'm not sure how that got in there. Oh, this might be yours too, actually. And this. Really, can you blame me for trying to clean up a bit?”

When he's finally gotten through the contents of his pouches, separating everything that belongs to Howl, he stands up and dusts himself off. “Well, sorry about that. It was just an innocent misunderstanding!” 

“Of course,” Howl says. 

“Anyway, I'm gonna go get Tika now.” Tas tries to go through the door again. He still can't make it through. 

“Tasslehoff Burrfoot, don’t make us flip you upside down and shake your pockets empty,” Raistlin says.

“Sorry, Raist, I was really sure that was everything!”

Raistlin narrows his eyes.

Tasslehoff roots around in the pockets of his vest. “Oh! Is this yours?” Tasslehoff asks, holding a bent spoon out to Howl. “I assumed you wanted to get rid of it, since it was bent. Just taking it off your hands for you.”

Finally, Tasslehoff passes through the door and runs, yelling for Tika. Raistlin slams the door shut behind him. “Dismantle the door now, before he comes back,” he says.

Howl crosses his arms. “He can’t just  _ come back _ ,” he says. “The door has to be opened for him.”

“ _ Tasslehoff Burrfoot, _ ” Raistlin says through gritted teeth, “ _ Will find a way. _ That kender has an uncanny ability to end up  _ exactly _ where he's least welcome.”

“I’m not worried about it,” Howl says, brushing him off. 

“I  _ am _ ,” Raistlin says. “I won't live somewhere the kender could barge into at any moment. I don't  _ want _ a door to Solace; I don't  _ want _ to go back. I do not like the fact that you would create this door without even  _ consulting _ me about it, first.”

“He can’t barge into it, that isn’t how the door works,” Howl scowls. “Are you even listening to me? Someone has to open it from the inside!” He turns away. “Anyway, it’s for emergencies. You never know what might happen.”

Raistlin glares at Howl’s back. “I’m not the one here who's not listening,” he says in a whisper, leaning heavily on his staff. Stepping back into Solace, he could feel the magic once again sapping his energy, feeding on his life force. He looked around at the people on the streets, many of whom he'd grown up alongside and he'd seen decay on their faces. “I don't  _ care _ what emergencies there may be. Get rid of the door.”

“No,” says Howl. “You don’t have to use it, but it’s staying.”

“Then I'm not,” Raistlin says.

Howl blinks. “Really? You’d leave over something like this?”

“This,” he says, “Among other things.”

Howl frowns, then reaches out to the door, peeling back a piece of magic like a sticker. The door does the same sort of shift and shiver again, but in reverse, and Howl is left holding the strange screen. He closes it and tosses it at Raistlin’s feet. “Do what you want,” he says.

“It's for the best, I think,” Raistlin says mildly, blankly.

Howl takes a deep breath. “I hate getting angry,” he says. “Is this about last night?”

Raistlin takes a moment to think. “No, it's about displacement. Since coming here, I've felt  _ displaced _ , and I’m finding adjustment...difficult. A door to Krynn doesn’t help, having no space of my own or time to myself doesn't help.”

“Oh,” Howl says. “You could have told me.” He understands needing your own space- he’d needed his own  _ world _ . 

Raistlin hums thoughtfully, his eyes fixed on Howl. “No, I don't think I could.”

“Hm,” Howl says. “I’m not going to beg you to stay, but… that’s pretty easy to fix.” He’s aware that it does sound like he’s begging. 

Raistlin’s grip tightens on his staff. “I'd prefer not to leave,” he admits.

“I can add a room for you,” Howl says, carefully. “You do need somewhere to keep your books.” 

Raistlin snorts. “I don't mind having to cart around a few books. Having somewhere private to study, however, would be nice.”

“Hm,” says Howl. “I could add another door.” 

“One that  _ doesn’t _ lead to traumatic pieces of my past, preferably.”

“I’ll find a room for rent somewhere,” Howl says. “Perhaps in Market Chipping.” He turns to the table, then pauses, and turns back. “And you didn’t tell me,” he adds.

“Didn't tell you what?” Raistlin asks.

“That it was traumatic. I’m not that much of an ass.”

Raistlin smirks at that. “Ah. Every piece of my childhood was traumatic in one way or another, and it all happened in Solace.” He shrugs. “It doesn't matter.”

Howl gives him a look. “I thought you might want to see your family once in a while,” he admits. “On your terms, of course.”

Raistlin makes a face. “Not necessary.”

Howl shrugs, and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew. hello. i'm not dead. sorry about the delay there, a lot has.... happened... i have no idea. i don't remember what i've done for the past month or however long, i literally feel like i haven't been on the same planet the whole time. maybe i was abducted by aliens. actually, no, i just have adhd and everything got VERY busy for a while. also em's in law school and law school has Happened with a capital H, so it's hard to post something we're co-writing consistently when there's no time to edit. SORRY I JUST FEEL REALLY GUILTY ABOUT IT so i'm word vomiting in the notes, as you do.
> 
> anyway. 
> 
> i love chaos and i love tasslehoff burrfoot.
> 
> this one ended up getting split into two chapters because it's really long, so hopefully we can get the second part up sooner than... several months in the future lol
> 
> come find me on twitter @pinesing and em @Anaphiel_


	10. DAY NINETEEN

It only takes about a week for Howl to find a room for Raistlin. It's just a small apartment above a boutique, a single bedroom and a living room. It's nothing like the Tower of Palanthas, or the run-down, shabby little house Raistlin and Caramon grew up in. It's a strange in-between, and Raistlin finds he likes it immediately.

While Howl sets up the door between the apartment and the castle, Raistlin moves his few, meager possessions into the apartment. Then, he steps back through the door into the castle, where Howl is waiting.

Howl smiles at him, lopsided and real, and goes back to his work. The door to Krynn is stashed in his shed- he remembers his promise to Caramon and still plans on honoring it, even if Raistlin is unhappy about it at the moment. 

He’s gotten used to having Raistlin around. He likes the other wizard’s presence, his magic, his intelligence. He enjoys his snarky comments on Howl’s more creative spells and his spats with Calcifer, how soft he can be with Michael. He likes seeing Raistlin’s silver head bent over a book across from him, or resting on the back of his chair by the fire. 

Howl is having a problem. 

Unsurprisingly, the new arrangement helps ease some of Raistlin’s tension. He hasn't been truly  _ alone _ since arriving in Ingary, and it's nice to have privacy to learn and experiment with spells. It doesn't take long for the locals to hear there's a new wizard in town, and soon, Raistlin starts attracting clients of his own. 

Once he's recovered a bit, spent some time alone, he once again begins seeking out the company of his strange companions. The door between his apartment and the castle sits open more often than not, something that could never be said for anywhere he's lived before.

Howl takes to migrating to Raistlin’s study in the evenings, sometimes with a book or a bottle of wine and other times just to talk. 

Raistlin gets so used to this nightly custom that one night, when Howl doesn't come over, Raistlin worries. He waits, reads a book, paces a bit, then eventually heads over to the castle. Michael is there, working on a spell Howl gave him.

“Where's Howl?” Raistlin asks.

“He went out this afternoon and he hasn’t come back yet,” Michael says. “Why?”

Raistlin scowls at nothing in particular. “We had plans.”

“Maybe something came up?” Michael suggests. “I think he went out the black door…”

Raistlin's scowl deepens. “I see.” He goes back to his apartment to read and stew.

It’s around four in the morning when Howl returns, crashing his way into the castle and singing at the top of his lungs. He has to have Calcifer shut the door to Raistlin’s rooms so that he can open it from his side, and the slam it makes is loud and sudden. 

Once Howl slams the door, Raistlin comes through from his own end. It only takes one look at Howl to recognize that he's extremely drunk. Raistlin crosses his arms and watches Howl stumble around.

Howl catches sight of him and grins. “Raistlin, my friend! You are a sight for sore eyes,” he says, dissolving into giggles. 

Raistlin’s scowl deepens, and he says nothing.

Howl walks over to him and starts running his hands over Raistlin’s shoulders, still chuckling. “Turn that frown ups- up-  _ upside _ down,” he laughs. “Or your face will freeze that way, and then where will we be?”

“This is the only expression I make, anyway,” Raistlin says, grabbing Howl’s hands and removing them from his person.

“What,” says Howl, “is wrong? You look m- you look. You look mad.”

“Where were you?”

“Out,” says Howl, “with the rugby lads.”

Raistlin's scowl impossibly deepens further. “Ah.”

“Raistlin,” Howl croons, drawing out the name. “Raistlin. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Why must you lie to me?”

Raistlin smirks. “I lie to everyone. But what makes you think I'm lying to you?”

“It’s on your face,” Howl slurs, putting a hand up to the tight lines of Raistlin’s jaw. “You look- you look upset.”

“You should tell Michael or Calcifer when you're going to go out like this,” Raistlin says. “Michael worries.”

“Calcifer knows where I am,” Howl replies, confused. 

“Michael doesn't, and  _ I _ don't,” Raistlin says.

Understanding passes slowly across Howl’s flushed features. “You were  _ worried _ about me?” 

Raistlin scoffs and looks away, but he doesn't say anything.

Howl puts his other hand on Raistlin’s face too and turns his head to look at him. “Raist,” he says, “you’re sweet.”

“I most certainly am  _ not _ ,” Raistlin says, batting away Howl’s hand. “I'd assumed you'd come by tonight; I just hadn't realized you had  _ better _ plans. Next time, tell me so I don't waste my time.”

Howl blinks. “Plans? Better- better than what? Oh, wait, you mean the rugby- I don’t understand,” he says, sounding lost. 

“Forget it,” Raistlin says, realizing he's not going to get much out of Howl by way of rational conversation. “You should sleep.”

“No,” says Howl. “I want you to not be upset,” he says. 

“Whether I'm upset or not has nothing to do with you,” Raistlin says.

“It looks like it does,” Howl says doubtfully. “I don’t like it. I don’t want you to be upset. Don’t be upset.”

Raistlin blinks. “I'm not upset. Better?”

Howl smiles. “I don’t  _ really _ believe you,” he says. He puts his hands on Raistlin’s chest. “Let me,” he continues, dropping to his knees and dragging his hands down to Raistlin’s belt, “make you happy.”

Raistlin hesitates, but then he grabs Howl’s wrist and pulls him back to his feet. “No. Sleep.”

Howl pulls closer to Raistlin, leaning most of his weight on him. “Raist _ lin, _ ” he whines. 

“Whining is  _ not _ going to work,” Raistlin says. “Don't make me cast a sleep spell on you.”

Howl sighs dramatically. “You,” he says into Raistlin’s ear, “should come with me next time,” he says. “The rugby lads aren’t any good conversation.”

“Why would I want to spend hours drinking with people who can't converse?” Raistlin asks blankly.

“Because some of them are kind, and the rest are amusing,” Howl says, running his hands down Raistlin’s chest and around his waist. “Because they have stories about me from college and would love to embarrass me. Because I would like to have you there,” he finishes, nuzzling Raistlin’s neck.

“Tempting,” Raistlin says, voice coming out slightly strangled. He carefully extricates himself from Howl’s arms. “But you embarrass yourself around  _ me  _ enough that I don't need their stories.”

Howl laughs, stumbling into the table. He ends up leaning back against it, and doesn’t respond. 

Raistlin holds a hand out, as if to steady Howl or catch him if he falls, then drops it. “Stay put,” he orders, then goes to get Howl a glass of water.

Howl is sitting on the floor when Raistlin comes back, leaning against the table leg and mumbling to himself in Welsh. 

Raistlin crouches beside him, and presses the glass of water into his hands. “Drink this. And if you don't come upstairs with me, I  _ will _ cast a sleeping spell on you and just leave you here.”

Howl nods and drinks, handing the glass back to Raistlin when he’s done and attempting to pull himself upright by the table leg. It doesn’t work very well. “I can’t get up,” he says. “The floor is dodging me.”

Raistlin sighs and holds a hand out to help Howl up. “Exactly how much did you drink?”

“Dunno,” Howl says, taking his hand and pulling himself to his feet, using the table as leverage. “A lot?” His accent is thicker when he’s been drinking. 

“Apparently,” Raistlin sighs, wrapping an arm around Howl’s waist and steering him toward the stairs.

“What would I do without you,” Howl sighs, following.

“Perish,” Raistlin says simply.

Howl nods. “Yes,” he says, and promptly trips over the bottom stair. 

Raistlin tries to catch Howl, fails, and ends falling to the ground with him.

“Oof,” Howl says. He starts laughing, and keeps laughing, Raistlin slightly on top of him.

Raistlin pushes himself up and climbs to his feet, dusting off his clothes as he does. “That’s it,” he says, “I'm going back to my rooms.”

This makes Howl laugh more. “Nooo,” he says. “I’m getting up, I’m getting up!” He hauls himself to his feet and leans against the wall. 

“A good start,” Raistlin says, standing at the bottom of the stairs and looking up at Howl. “Now climb the rest of the way up and go to bed.”

Howl salutes him and takes a step up, then another, after which he has to lean against the wall again. “I’m going, I’m going,” he slurs. 

Raistlin stands at the bottom of the stairs and watches to make sure Howl makes it to his room. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. 

“Good night!” Howl calls, and a loud thump comes from the direction of his room, then several more. 

Raistlin, not particularly worried about the thumps now that Howl’s passed the danger of the stairs, turns to leave. “Good night,” he says, quietly.

 

-

 

Back in his own room, Raistlin collapses onto his bed. There's a strange feeling in his chest; it's different from the fiery magic of Krynn, from the exhilaration of fear, from any other feeling he's ever known. He's sure that he must be dying. 

No, he knows he's not dying-- at least not literally, physically. But he doesn't know what's happening to him. He can feel his priorities shifting, rearranging to incorporate the new aspects of his life, and he doesn't know how to feel about it.

This has happened before. Usually, when he begins to feel too… _ vulnerable _ , he has no problem cutting and running. He has no problem abandoning whatever doesn't matter, so long as he keeps to his path. Usually, he doesn't care who he hurts.

But Howl...he cares about hurting Howl. And he knows, now, that Howl  _ would  _ be hurt by his leaving. It scares him, staying, but not as much as the thought of leaving.

At some point, he passes into fitful sleep, and he dreams of maelstroms, his brother’s tears, and Howl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhey guysss once again i'm not dead. life has been NUTS. sorry this chapter's shorter, i'll get another one up soon.


	11. DAY FORTY-THREE

Howl wakes with a splitting headache and, unsurprisingly, a cough. He can’t tell if anyone else is awake, so he rolls over and goes back to sleep for another few minutes. It’s fitful at best. 

The rest of the castle is still silent, so Howl gathers up his blankets and traipses downstairs, looking pathetic.

“Calcifer,” he croaks. “I believe I am going to die.”

“You won’t get any sympathy from me,” the fire crackles as Howl places the kettle over him. “I saw that display you put on with Raistlin last night.”

“Hell’s teeth,” Howl mutters. He’d forgotten about that. Embarrassing. He sneezes, and conjures up a kleenex. 

The door opens and Raistlin pads in, looking just as disheveled as Howl does. He notices Howl standing there and freezes for just a moment before wandering over to the kitchen for some breakfast. He says nothing.

Howl starts coughing, dragging his blanket with him to keep making tea. Raistlin watches Howl out of the corner of his eyes, frowning at the coughing but stubbornly still saying nothing.

“Good morning,” Howl croaks, coughing sadly in Raistlin’s direction. 

“Morning,” Raistlin says, narrowing his eyes at Howl. “Are you sick?”

“I always catch a cold when I go to Wales,” Howl sniffles, then conjures another kleenex. His tea is done, so he blows on the mug until he can sip at it.

“You're sure you're not just  _ hungover?” _ Raistlin asks.

Howl levels a sad, noble glare at Raistlin. “That too,” he says. 

“My, that  _ is _ unfortunate,” Raistlin says, no sympathy in his voice whatsoever.

“Yes,” Howl agrees, “it most certainly is. Well, I’m going to go upstairs, where I may die.” 

“I’ll take every last one of your books, if you do,” Raistlin says.

“At least they’ll go to a good home,” Howl says, looking tragic. 

“Come here,” Raistlin says.

Howl turns and peers at him. “What?”

“I said,” Raistlin says, leaning against the counter, “Come  _ here _ . I need to see something.”

Howl shuffles over to him, still wrapped in the blanket. Raistlin grabs the blanket and uses it to tug Howl closer, then presses the back of his hand against Howl’s forehead. He frowns. “Hm. You  _ are _ unusually warm.”

Howl blinks at him, then sneezes again. 

Raistlin yanks his hand back, then frowns at the sneeze. “Upstairs. Go lay down.”

Mumbling in agreement, Howl trudges to the stairs and ascends. The sound of sneezing emanates from his room. 

Raistlin sighs, paces around the room a few times, then sighs again and follows Howl upstairs. He knocks on the door and enters without waiting for a response. He finds Howl wrapped in a cocoon of blanket on his bed. “Is there anything you need? More blankets?”

Howl coughs. “Water,” he says. 

Raistlin goes and gets Howl a glass of water.

Howl accepts it, leaning back and sighing. “I think I have some throat tonic left over in the lower left kitchen drawer,” he says next. 

Raistlin raises an eyebrow at Howl, who seems a little too smug about the whole situation, but he goes to get the throat tonic.

He runs into Michael in the kitchen, who frowns at him blearily. “I hear coughing,” he says. “Is Howl sick?”

“Apparently,” Raistlin says, moving around stacks of dirty dishes for the throat tonic. “Falls sick often, does he?”

“Not really,” Michael says. “Does he need anything? I can help!”

Raistlin looks at Michael. He’d been slightly younger than Michael when he’d started following Weird Mag around, learning about this exact sort of thing. “I'll let you know if I need you,” Raistlin says, heading back upstairs. “Which may happen if he gets to be too much.”

“Okay,” says Michael, worry evident in his voice. “I’ll be down here when you need me!” 

Raistlin waves him off and returns to Howl's room. After handing Howl the tonic, he asks, sarcasm starting to edge into his voice, “Anything else?”

“No,” Howl whispers. He coughs again. “I’m just going to sleep.”

“Good idea. I'll be back in my study; Michael is downstairs if you need anything,” Raistlin says, turning to leave.

“Wait,” Howl says. 

Raistlin waits. “Yes?”

“Can you stay? I just want company.” He looks absolutely miserable. 

Raistlin hesitates and looks around the room. He hasn't been in here since...well. “I…suppose.”

Howl hums and rolls over, making room for Raistlin to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Raistlin does, perching on the very edge of the bed. If he'd known this would be Howl's request, he would’ve brought a book up. “You look ridiculous,” he says.

“Making fun of someone who’s ill,” Howl murmurs. “That’s low.” 

“Did you really expect better of me?” Raistlin asks. He sits back a little.

“Not really,” Howl sighs. “Though you can be sweet every now and then.” 

Raistlin sniffs disdainfully.

Howl laughs, quietly. “Hungover and sick at the same time,” he says. “I suppose I deserve this.” 

“Yes,” Raistlin says, “You do.”

“Are you still upset with me?” 

“No,” Raistlin says.

“Good,” says Howl.

“How could I be, when you seemed so  _ eager _ to change my mind last night?” Raistlin asks with a smirk, horribly smug about it.

Howl glances at him, then turns to stare at the ceiling, looking beleaguered and sad (but a little flushed in the cheeks). Raistlin rolls his eyes and scoots to sit a little further on the bed. “How do you feel? With as little dramatics as you're able, or I'll leave,” he says.

Howl sighs. “My brain is addled. I feel woozy. And my throat hurts.” 

“Your brain is always addled,” Raistlin says. “Fortunately, the other two things can be solved with rest.”

“I’m restless.”

“As long as I’m here, I am not letting you leave this bed,” Raistlin says. It was meant to sound threatening and severe. It doesn't.

Howl looks at him and raises an eyebrow. 

Raistlin frowns at him. “You'll just risk making it worse, and I'll have to put up with this longer.”

“I’m so-” Howl stops to have a minor coughing fit- “ _ very _ sorry to be an inconvenience.” 

“I'm going to make you tea,” Raistlin says, and he leaves.

When he returns with tea, after having fended off Michael’s offers to help, he sits without being asked, closer to Howl this time. He passes the bitter-smelling cup of tea over. “This should soothe your cough.”

Howl sits up enough to take the cup, his eyes dull with fever. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Hm,” Raistlin says. He reaches out and brushes a few locks of hair away from Howl's face, again feeling his forehead. He's warmer than before.

Howl leans into his hand. “Feels nice,” he says.

“That's because you have a fever,” Raistlin says, not removing his hand right away. 

“Seems to be the case,” says Howl. “I’m tired.”

“Go to sleep, then,” Raistlin says. “I can leave you alone, if it'll be easier.” 

Howl rolls until he’s half-curled around Raistlin, still cocooned in blankets. “Stay,” he says.

Raistlin huffs, looking away from Howl, cheeks suspiciously warm. “Until you're asleep,” he promises. 

“Mmm,” says Howl, closing his eyes. 

Not quite able to stop himself, Raistlin reaches out and brushes some more hair away from Howl’s face. From there, it leads to brushing his hair back, running his long fingers through the soft strands. Howl looks younger like this, and not for the first time, Raistlin is grateful that the curse on his eyes doesn't work here.

“I’m really glad you stayed with us,” Howl says, quiet. 

Raistlin pauses in his running his hand through Howl’s hair, then continues, slower than before. “I’m not sure where else I would have gone,” he says.

“I don’t know either.” Howl sighs a bit. 

Raistlin hums and continues what he's doing. “I’m glad, too,” he says, finally.

Howl’s breathing evens out slowly as Raistlin brushes through his hair. Soon it’s soft and regular with sleep. It takes a minute for Raistlin to notice, but when he does, he doesn’t immediately leave. He sits for a while longer, until he realizes what he’s doing. Then, he gets up, quiet as he can, and leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back :x

**Author's Note:**

> honestly, this was a blast to write and continues to be hilarious to consider.
> 
> hit me up on twitter @pinesing (and em at @anaphiel_) if you wanna talk about gay wizard crossovers.


End file.
